


Where you laid your head, the grass was red

by QueenBoo



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fae Child Vince, Faun Howard, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic and monsters, Mentions of Blood, Minor Injuries, Only adequate descriptions of magical settings, Prophecies, This is set in the 90s guys, alternating pov, boosh au, fairytale AU, like watching a tennis match, mythical creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 63,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoo/pseuds/QueenBoo
Summary: Vince had spent his whole life in the forest, being watched over by his pseudo father Bryan Ferry and his cohort of animal babysitters. Since he can remember, he's always been told to never venture into the North of the forest - So Naturally, the first chance he gets he goes to find out what he's been missing.Entire tale based on some incredible artwork by @Captainfoxgloves on tumblr
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 52
Kudos: 25





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I promised this AU about six weeks ago and it really ran away from me in terms of length and plot line, but what can I say. I was super inspired by the INCREDIBLE artwork of @captainfoxgloves on tumblr and I wanted to do it justice with this tale. So I'm finally releasing it from the depths of my folders.
> 
> You can find the original art [Here!](https://captainfoxgloves.tumblr.com/post/617926584242995200/hear-me-out-i-know-ceruveal-brooks-is) Please go an give it some love, it's sooo perfect!
> 
> This will be posted in three parts with a short lil one to get us started! A tale of a lonely goat man, and an oblivious fae child that stumbles into his woods. Enjoy :)

Growing up Vince had wanted for nothing. 

Living like he did was the stuff of daydreams for many children. A cosy hut secluded in a picturesque forest. No school to speak of. Free to roam in the wild as much as he liked providing one of his many animal babysitters was nearby to supervise.

Oh yeah, and having the gift of being able to talk to animals? That was pretty cool, too. 

It was perfect. 

Well. Almost perfect. If Vince was pressed about the topic, then there was perhaps _one_ thing that he thinks is missing from his existence. Not parents, no, he couldn’t have asked for a better pseudo father than Bryan (even if he seems to spend more time on tour than actually raising Vince) and as the man himself always reassured him - there was no use lingering over the pains of the past. Best to look to the future instead. So one thing Vince would have changed about his childhood? He wanted to go into the North of the forest. 

It had been out of bounds for as long as Vince remembers, which of course, to a child, only makes it that much more interesting. Bryan would warn him every time he caught the young one staring longingly down the dirt path that disappeared in that direction. _“You must never go North, Vince. No matter what.”_ Even the animals whispered things to him during the night times. Horror stories of creatures that lay in the depths. Flesh-hungry man-eating monsters by their accounts. 

It was enough to keep a young boy terrified and complacent, but never satiated in his curiosity. Vince’s mind was too inquisitive to ever shake the feeling that something was waiting out there just for him. Calling him. Laying low for the right opportunity. Something out there _needed_ him. At night he was sure he could hear it singing in the wind; a song trapped in his head for most of his life. 

_I’m spiraling down infinity_

Which meant of course, eighteen years of these tales did absolutely _nothing_ to stop him trekking North the first opportunity he was given. 

Really, people should have expected it, what with the fact they had mentioned how _forbidden_ the place was almost every day for his entire upbringing. Most of the population would define that as _‘definitely not allowed’_ but Vince operated under his own dictionary and so what he heard was _adventure_ . By all rights he had been led here by the hand and told _“Look there’s something really cool in there, you’ll probably want to check it out."_ and then wished good luck as he disappeared into certain death. 

Bryan has ventured off around the world again, and Vince squeaked his way into eighteen just days ago - therefore no longer in need of the constant babysitting he had been subjected to as a child. He had never been left alone for a moment in his youth. Not a _second_. If Bryan wasn’t with him then one of the animals would be. Hot on his heels and ready to supervise. Right into his teens. It was incredibly annoying and from his perspective rather pointless. There was no one but himself and the animals around, who was Bryan so afraid of?

Because he _was_ afraid of something. Vince knew the older man well enough to see it in his gaze. How anxious he got the closer Vince had crept towards adulthood. Now that he could no longer be kept under strict rule. Free from the suffocating weight of Bryan’s protective nature. There was more than meets the eye going on here, and as far as Vince is concerned the answer lays in the one place in this forest he has never been. 

There is no one watching him now. He is free to get gobbled up by whatever he finds lurking here. 

At first it doesn’t seem any different to the part of the woods that he lives in. He must walk for at least half an hour and all he sees is more forest. Same grass. Same trees. Same everything. Even the _air_ feels the same. A little humid for mid-May, but bearable. Birdsong carries on the wind and lulls him into relaxation. Distinctly not exciting. Definitely nothing worth developing nightmare inducing stories over, that's for sure. 

But he catches something. A sound. Breeze ruffling his dark hair and whispering what sounds like music into his ear - and not the kind birds make naturally. This was an instrument. A tune he has been hearing since he was aware enough to register what music was. 

_I can’t see, I can’t breathe_

It steals the air from his lungs and without knowing exactly _why_ he spins on his heel and rushes down a path that is so overgrown he almost hadn’t noticed it was there in the first place. He isn’t paying attention to where he runs. He’s chasing the chords of a broken melody - he can’t even hear a voice singing but he _can_ hear it. Which is utterly bonkers and he needs to find the source of the music or. Or he doesn’t know but it will be _bad._

There’s a sensation. It hits him all at once. Forces him to stop dead in his tracks. 

The only way he can describe it is like when you step out of the shade and into direct sunlight. A wall of heat that collides with you - a bit like that - but it isn’t heat, what he’s feeling. It’s nothing that can really be qualified in any language Vince might be able to speak; not even animals. It’s just a sensation of _change_ , tingles over his skin and when he looks back the way he came it’s like peering through a window. Glassy and distant. 

It’s only then he notices how everything has changed. The trees are darker, blooming impossibly coloured flowers. There are birds chirping here too but he can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s just dead silence that he has never known to come from an animal. Is this how normal people feel around them?

_The grass is red._

In his panic he takes two steps backwards; that sensation again. Something passes lightly over him. He squeezes his eyes shut, afraid to see where he has ended up this time, but upon opening them finds he is back in a normal, understandable, world. No red grass. No funny trees. Distantly a blackbird laments that her chicks are driving her up the wall with their almost constant bickering. 

And it clicks. 

When Vince had been told there was something in the forest he had assumed it was some kind of ferocious beast. Certainly Bryan and his menagerie had reinforced that idea with their storytelling. He hadn’t at all imagined that this is what he would find out here. A forest within the forest, secluded away where no one would find it. 

Vince takes one big purposeful step forward and beams when he knowingly steps into this fresh new world. 

Good thing Bryan won't be back for literally weeks. 

***

The second the change occurs he can feel it. It’s like an electric shock, jolting through his whole body in a startling way - a tad uncomfortable but he can’t bring himself to care much about that because it’s happened. 

Someone is in his wood. 

Howard discards his guitar with haste and scampers to his hooved feet. For a second he can’t really move except for darting his hands all over his person to check his respectability. Brushes a hand over his hair to tame rogue curls, twining the locks where they settle around his horns. Stray strands of grass are plucked from his furry legs. His heart’s pounding so loud it’s all he can hear. 

_Someone is in his wood._

_Finally._

Howard Moon was a man of great resolve. Equipped with enough natural talents to keep himself entertained for any stretch of time you could imagine, but if he was to be perfectly honest, he can’t remember how long he has been here at this point and the lack of conversation was driving him a bit mad. 

The fact someone had crossed the border from outside into this place meant a great number of things. A lot of them are rather important. Things written about in dusty great books. The literal definition of destiny, some might say. But the thing Howard was most looking forward to? 

Seeing another person for the first time in many, _many,_ years. 

He jolts into action. Hurries himself as fast as his furry legs will carry him down the familiar path to the boundary. A place he has spent long hours pacing in front of just waiting, poised to be the welcoming committee for whatever kind of person found their way through. 

That’s a thought. What kind of person is going to be waiting for him when he gets there? He imagines that it must be a pretty lady. From what he understands of this entire scenario, which isn’t a lot (they like to be vague, prophecies, don’t they), then she’s going to be beautiful. The book had described the person as ethereal. A beacon in the dark. Howard had spent many a day puzzling over the exact _look_ of the wanderer. Perhaps she'd have curly hair like wool. Or long and straight, that would be fine too. Black hair; auburn? Maybe blonde. She will be smaller than him, that is for certain, he was a rather large man in terms of his build. 

Will she have brown eyes or blue? What about green? 

Oh gosh, he was too excited. 

It doesn’t take him long to get within range, the track a familiar enough one that scampering down here takes barely time at all. The distinct sound of crunching leaves and twigs snapping under the weight of someone’s footsteps has him halting in his steps, poised subtly behind the bark of a large tree so as not to be seen. Branches are shifting on the other side as they maneuver around a person. 

She’s right there. It’s really happening. Suddenly he doesn’t want it to be. He wants to back away. Leave. Turn his fluffy tail and run back to his cottage, which is silly. His whole purpose is waiting for him in this lady. Everything he’s been anticipating for all this time. 

Even a man of action like himself gets nervous in the face of such a life changing incident, though. 

But then he hears her. “Oh _hello_!” She coos, the dull thud of knees hitting the soft grass. No doubt enraptured by one of the other creatures that reside on this side of the border with him. Her voice is soft, high and effeminate. Wraps his whole being in silk, and it’s all the motivation he needs to peek around the tree trunk. 

She’s kneeling with her back to him, gentle hand extended towards a pastel blue rabbit. She’s got dark hair, messy in a kind of intentional way. Dark trousers cling to her legs, a flowing white shirt draping off her angles in all the right ways. Shiny heeled boots. 

Without seeing her face he already knows she’s perfect.

“Hello,” He says, and it comes out as nothing more than a breath. 

It’s enough to startle her, no sooner has she shot to her feet than she’s turned on him with an expression of shock - and then the picture doesn’t quite add up the way it should. Because while effeminate, that is definitely a man standing in his woods. 

“Oh! Uh-”

“Wow!” The person gasps; shock gives way to blatant curiosity. He takes one large step towards him and Howard finds himself taking one back in his confusion. “Hi!” 

“I don’t,” Howard looks around frantically. None of this makes any sense. Why is he here? “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Vince,” The man says easily. He’s not bothering to hide the way his eyes dart from Howard’s head to his feet. A bit rude really. Didn’t he understand that a polite averting of the gaze is what is expected in situations like this? Howard feels a bit exposed, shrinks back under the scrutiny. “Don’t tell me, Mr Tumnus, yeah? I’ve always wanted to meet a goat man.” 

***

Vince is certain he has never had a day as exciting as this one before. 

Not only has he tripped through a portal into a completely new world, a world populated by strange coloured animals and sweet smelling foliage, but within ten minutes of being in this place a half-man half-ram hybrid has snuck up on him from within the trees. In some scenarios, the behaviour might be considered a little bit creepy. Especially when you take into account his shifty peepers that haven’t managed to stay still since they clapped onto Vince. But he seemed harmless enough in the way he stands now; hands twisting together nervously and a gentle flush to his cheeks. 

Vince has never wanted to be anyone’s friend more than he has at this moment. 

The fact that it doesn’t look like this feeling is reciprocated does nothing to put him off. If anything, it only encourages him. Vince hasn’t been blessed with knowing many humans in his young life, not when Bryan was so insistent on keeping him secluded from the outside world. So this? Even if it only technically counts as _half_ a human, this is still one of the best things that could have come out of this whole adventure.

Whatever the case, he has been polite enough to introduce himself, and is met instead with more stony silence. The other is in no hurry to return the favour. He’s looking at him with squinted eyes like he’s the most complicated thing he’s ever seen and okay, Vince knows he has a tendency to dress a bit funny, but that surely doesn’t warrant being looked at in such a way? 

“I’ll have you know that’s a rather offensive thing to say,” The goat man finally sniffs at him, tone dripping indignation. 

“Wot, my name?” Vince asks, confused. 

The man actually has the cheek to roll his eyes at him as if he were the one in the wrong here. “No. Calling me a Goat Man. A bit rude, actually.” 

“Oh.” Vince shrugs one shoulder, not that big of a deal. He can learn from that mistake. A wide smile splits his face once more. “Alright, sorry. But you’re gonna have to tell me what to call you instead then.” 

Hooves kick against the deep red grass as the hybrid considers him. Vince has come to realise he isn’t actually squinting at him, that’s just how he looks. Which comforts him some about the other man’s attitude. He is left patiently waiting for a decision. “Howard.” The man says eventually. 

Bryan’s lessons in manners come screaming back to him; Vince offers his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Howard.” 

They shake hands and even that action feels like it is performed reluctantly by Howard. He doesn’t respond about what a pleasure it is to meet Vince, though, and now he thinks perhaps he’s the one being rude. “Do you live here?” Vince asks, instead of getting picky over their mutual lack of correct etiquette. 

“Um. Yes, sort of.” Howard replies. The eyes combined with the tense line of the other man’s bare shoulders gives his whole character a shifty aura. Like he’s up to something shady. There’s plenty of questions Vince finds he can ask about that too, what _does_ a ram-man get up to in a forest all day. Not like they have NME here… do they? 

No further elaboration comes from Howard’s vague reply. Vince finds himself chuckling at the man. “Not much of a talker, are you?” 

This lights a fire under him, his expression scrunches into one of a person who has just sucked a lemon. Sour. “On the contrary, sir, I’m an excellent conversationalist. One of the great talkers of my generation.” 

“Oh yeah?” Vince snickers. “And which generation is that?”

Affronted, Howard’s mouth drops open. “Probably the exact same as yours, you- you-”

“Go on.” Vince encourages, eagerly awaiting the end of that sentence. If he had a seat he’d be on the edge of it. 

“You tit.” Howard finishes. For all the world he looks relieved for it. “That’s right. Coming into my woods and saying things like that. You’re a tit.” 

Rather than be offended, Vince breaks into heaving laughter. “I like you.” He says, and he means it. All the man has done so far is acted grumpy and called him names, but still. He’s funny. A tad rough around the edges but when you get him going there is some passion in there, you just have to find it.

And when all he does in response to Vince’s expressed sentiment is blush and look at the ground. Vince decides he _definitely_ likes him. 

“You going to show me the rest of this wood then?” After all, who better than to give him the full experience than someone who supposedly owns the place. 

“What?” Howard frowns at him, confused. 

“Well you said it's yours right?” Howard nods dumbly at this. “Well, I’m a visitor and I want to explore. You can help with that, can’t you?” 

The other man regards him with a look of utter bafflement for a moment. Like he can’t believe what he’s hearing - Vince certainly doesn’t know what he’s said to inspire such a look. You’d think this strange goat man had never seen a regular human before. Maybe he’s just as secluded as Vince. 

“Right.” He says after a while. “Okay, yes.”

“Genius!” Vince beams. “Take me to the prettiest place you know.” 

***

Vince is so completely different to what he had been expecting when he went to investigate the intruder in his woods, but that by no means discounts him as good company. In fact, once he had gotten over the initial shock of the man, he finds he is quite tolerable to have around. 

Fun, even. 

“- And I’ve been living with him in the woods ever since.” Vince finishes his tale with a grin. “I never knew this was out here though.” 

As he has been talking - and he does talk rather a lot - Vince’s gaze has been flitting from pillar to post like an excited whippet. There is the soft gleam of wonder in his eyes every time he discovers something new. Things that Howard had long come to understand as normal to the point he forgot they might excite other people. 

He had expressed interest in seeing the prettiest parts of the forest, so naturally Howard was taking them to the only part of the place he thought was truly beautiful, the only place that no matter how long you’d been here could never be described as mundane - the river. 

On their walk Vince stops every three feet. Dips at the waist to pluck multicoloured flowers from the grass and tuck them into the mass of his hair like a crown. Points out birds and rabbits, inquires if Howard can hear them talk. Or if they might potentially be friendly so he can pet them. The boy manages to find joy in the smallest of things and Howard finds himself relaxing into his energy of ease a lot faster than he probably should. 

Miraculously, he has also managed to fill Howard in on most of his life story on their walk, and it is this that leads Howard to the conclusion that Vince has _no idea_ who he really is. Nor why he is here. 

Not that he’d know where to begin explaining that, either. 

“How long have you been out here then?” Vince asks. One thing he has noticed is that the boy dislikes silence no matter how fleeting. But Howard is so unused to talking to people that he often forgets it requires words, thus there is a lot of silence to fill. 

“Um… What year is it?” 

Vince gapes at him. “Bloody hell, you’re well secluded from the outside world aren’t you?” he asks. Then answers the original question. “It’s 1991.” 

“God. Too long.” Howard says, which he realises isn’t an actual answer, but following the stark realisation that it has been longer than he first anticipated he can’t bring himself to elaborate. It hadn’t _felt_ excessively lengthy until this moment. All that time wasted, stuck here. Waiting for his escape. 

“Ain’t you ever gotten lonely?” 

And Howard laughs a little at that, but it’s mostly a bitter sound. “Yeah, actually. A lot.” 

Vince frowns over at him, seems to put the context clues of all of this together. "You stuck here?" 

Howard nods his head, melancholy. Vince doesn't press the issue further though, perhaps using some of that perception to understand that Howard doesn't want to talk about it. A fact he's thankful for. He honestly doesn't know how best to explain himself just yet. This has all come on a bit sudden. That’s the thing about these pesky prophecies, no matter how much they were written, how you spent your time learning and trying to understand them… it sort of knocks you flat when events start taking place. 

Vince is the first real person he's seen in years; he doesn't want to scare him off now by explaining exactly how all of this works. What happened. Why destiny has and always will be a villainous bitch.

Thankfully they reach the river before either of them has to scramble for a new topic, Howard politely pulling bracken out of the way so the spot he likes to sit at comes into view. The water is a lilac, reflecting in the bright sunlight that seems to be present here all year round; a large rock seated directly in a patch of sun is present on the riverbank.

Five years and Howard has never grown tired of the picturesque little scene. 

Vince gasps as he sees it, his whole body stalling in a moment of utter bliss. “Wow.” He breathes on an exhale. Almost immediately he turns to grasp at Howard's hand in his enthusiasm - but it's been so long since he last had human contact that he flinches away from it as if on instinct and snaps _"Don't touch me.”_

As he has been by all of Howard’s behaviour thus far, Vince is unphased. Regardless of whether Howard is following him, he rushes to the side of the stream anyway and falls to his knees to pull fingers through the trickling water. 

Howard watches him. Still. Desperately trying not to analyse the way his skin prickles with the aftershocks of Vince’s fleeting touch. How his tail has started to wriggle with joy of its own accord just at the sight of his enthusiasm. 

"It's so beautiful here," Vince says, awe clear in his tone. His fingers swirl in spirals, drawing invisible patterns in the water. "Everything back where I'm from is so dull." 

"Everything gets dull if you live with it long enough." Howard finally forces himself into action. Settling himself on his favourite rock perch while Vince explores. "After awhile you start to miss green grass and blue water."

Vince looks up at him, considering. Then asks, "So you _are_ from out there, then?" 

He supposes it had to come up some time, Vince doesn’t strike him as the kind of person that can leave well enough alone for very long. 

Carefully, like he’s expecting a slap rather than an interrogation, Howard nods his head. As expected, Vince takes this as encouragement to continue his inquiry. "Were you always a goa-" Howard’s glare catches him off guard. He clicks his jaw shut. Pauses. Recollects. "Were you human once?" 

"You're very nosey, you know?" 

"Prefer to be called curious." Vince shifts where he’s sitting, now cross legged on the grass at Howard’s feet. He’s beaming up at him from under his fringe; at least has the good grace to look a little shy about his incessant questions. “If it’s all the same.” 

Howard can’t help himself, he scoffs at him with much too much fondness for how short a time he has known him. "I prefer not answering questions."

This is apparently a very amusing statement to the boy, who just giggles prettily at him. "You don't _have_ to answer them. I'll probably just keep asking, though." 

Howard glares down at him, Vince blinks back up, eventually Howard loses that staring match and instead rolls his eyes heavenward with a deep sigh. Honestly, none of the writings prepared him for what a cheeky brat Vince actually is. 

"No, I wasn’t always like this. This is… Temporary."

“Sounds like an awful long time for temporary.” Howard huffs in response to that but Vince pretends not to hear it. He’s busy attempting to solve a puzzle he hasn’t got all the pieces for yet. Trying to cram conclusions and solutions together in his little head crudely. "So what, one day you walked in here and- wait. Oh Christ I'm not gonna get stuck here am I? Am I gonna grow ram’s legs? Is that how it works? Am I trapped?" 

And as much as Howard didn't want to talk about it, the way that Vince’s eyes are suddenly overcome with panic doesn’t sit right with him. Those sparkling baby blues should never be subject to such negativity ever, not if he could help it. 

"Calm down, you're not stuck here.” He insists. “You can leave whenever you please."

"Oh." Vince plants a hand to his chest and sighs his relief. "Thank God!" 

But that perception he displayed earlier doesn't take long to kick in. "So you…" he frowns at Howard, sadness colouring his features, so intense in it’s sincerity that Howard finds he can’t look directly at it. Turns his head to watch the ripple of the water instead. "What happened to you, Howard?" 

And that _has_ to be where he draws the line in the sand. Vince sounds so sad for him. So much sympathy and unwanted pity crammed into that one question that he no longer wants to entertain answering it. Instead he kicks his hoof into the ground and tries to distract him with something else. "I have a cottage not far from here, I could take you there. Make you a cup of tea?" 

It works at least, the sadness escapes that gaze only to be replaced with more insatiable curiosity. Vince bobs his head enthusiastically and Howard is mesmerised by the way his hair shifts as he does, strands framing his face and fanning out with every movement. 

Belatedly, he does realise he now has to actually take this man to his cabin.

 _Bugger_.

***

Vince isn't stupid. He's known Howard a handful of hours and he can already read him like a book. Not that it’s that difficult, really, for a mythical creature he has some rather human tells. Like avoiding eye contact, or how he’ll kick his little hooves against the ground. Pick at his own soft brown fur anxiously. 

It definitely clues him in to the fact that there is another layer to what is going on here, something that Howard desperately wants to avoid having to tell him. Which alright, he supposes he is a complete stranger, so that's fair enough. 

Doesn't stop his interest being piqued beyond belief, though, makes him wonder if it's got something to do with all the warnings he'd gotten as a child. If Howard had managed to fall on the wrong side of a being far more sinister than a soft goat man inside a secret forest. 

One thing is for sure, he got a nice little cabin out of it. The log structure is quite homely, once Howard brings him back to it. Hearth full of ash that’s indicative of a fire having been lit there recently, a plush little sofa adjacent. In the small kitchenette there’s a kettle on the stove and jars full of a vast array of herbs and spices. If he sits at the small writing desk by the window then all he can see is this mystic nature of this place - it’s beautiful. 

“So was this just here ready built for you or?” 

Howard rolls his eyes at him again, hooves clicking on the wood floor as he sets about making tea. He makes a point not to answer, Vince had been expecting that. Resigns himself to keeping busy with his snooping- which he does with little care for how rude it must make him look. He scans the books on the shelves, all with lengthy smart sounding titles. Howard had scooped a guitar up from the grass outside as they entered, set it in the corner. The inkwell and quill on the aforementioned writing desk sit next to a stack of journals. It’s all pretty genius, it’s somehow exactly the kind of place he imagined Howard living. 

“Could do with some art on the walls.” Vince says as Howard hands him a steaming mug of tea. “Bit of colour.” 

“Hmm,” Howard agrees, cradling his own cup gently. “I don’t draw that well, though.” 

“I’ll paint you something.” Vince didn’t consciously decide to make that promise, but now he has said it finds there is nothing more he wants to do than make something for Howard to keep in his house. 

“You paint?” Howard shouldn’t sound as startled as he does, Vince doesn’t take offence though, just nods at him. 

“Have to find something to do when you live in the woods all by yourself don’t you?” They share a look then, eyes meeting, something like understanding passing between them. Since walking into the little house the questions in Vince’s arsenal have tripled and the list just keeps on growing the more he gets to know this man. 

Howard beats him to asking one, though. “Why do you still live in the forest?” He asks, sipping at his own tea. “Surely you’re old enough to go off on your own, now?” 

Vince shrugs at him. Unlike Howard he has no qualms answering questions. “I’m a gifted child.” He answers easily. “Can talk to animals, well, I can on my side of the woods. Not here, they seem to speak a different language here.” 

Something about this answer has made Howard still, brows furrowed, staring at him. Vince just keeps talking to avoid looking into it too much. “Bryan used to always tell me how special I am, anyway. I don’t reckon I’d do too good in a city. Not many animals there, are they?” 

“Not unless you went to a zoo.” Howard says, breaks free of his staring.

“There’s an idea.” Vince moves back to the open doorway of the hut (Howard following him as if automatically drawn to his side), stares out at the sunshine filled patch of grass Howard has managed to make a home in. “I could get a job in a zoo. I’d be a brilliant zookeeper.” 

“Well…” Howard cocks his head to the side, shoots him a knowing look. 

“Shut up, I would be.” 

There’s an ungraceful snort from his side, Howard chuckling into his tea. “As if. You’d spend all day asking the animals questions, drive them up the wall.” 

“Nah. I wouldn’t need to ask ‘em questions ‘cause I already know loads about normal animals.” Vince explains eagerly. “I only keep asking you so many ‘cause you’re all unique and interesting.” 

“Interesting?” Howard’s gaze is back on his; it makes his stomach clench in anticipation of… Something that he can’t quite put his finger on. 

He just barely manages to choke out an answer around the feeling. “Yup. I’ve never met anyone like you before.” 

As best he can he tries to convey his sincerity with his expression alone, Howard is only scoffing at him in disbelief. “What, a Goat man?” 

It’s somehow become the most important thing to him that Howard understands Vince wants to be his friend regardless of what legs he has (though, the ram’s legs are pretty cool). “No. Well, yeah a bit. But not just that.” He says. “I meant all broody an’ mysterious, like.” 

From the corner of his eye he sees Howard’s little ram tail start wriggling in a subconscious expression of how pleased this answer makes him, but he doesn’t draw attention to it; afraid it would stop. A blush covers the other man’s features. It might just be the sweetest thing he’s ever witnessed and this time it's an organ distinctly higher and buried beneath his rib cage that gives a painful clench. 

“I don’t mean to be rude or nothing, askin’ all my questions.” He continues. “I’m just trying to get to know you, is all.” 

Some of Howard’s icy demeanor melts away, replaced instead with a shy smile. They sip at their tea in silence for some time and then Howard says, “Do you like music?”

***

It becomes obvious that Vince _loves_ music. He talks for almost an hour about Gary Numan alone - regales Howard with tales of how brilliant he is and then goes on to make a in depth argument as to _why_ he’s that brilliant. Howard can’t even bring himself to stop him because Vince is made of energy anyway but this is like witnessing a shooting star with how he vibrates with his giddiness. His perfectly manicured hands dart about as he talks, mouth going a mile a minute and yet he never seems to run out of breath. 

And the kid doesn’t realise it… but he’s glowing. Not in a metaphorical sense, either, he is _literally_ glowing. Begun to glimmer like a ray of sunshine as soon as Howard engaged him in conversation. It drags him back to the painful reality that Vince is indeed a gifted child, and one that isn’t even aware of it. 

He really should say something. 

Not right now though. It would be rude wouldn’t it? They’ve situated themselves back outside in the late afternoon warmth and they have been partaking in good natured debate over the various genres of music - it would rather ruin the mood he thinks. So he can afford to put it off for a bit. 

Nothing ruins the mood as much as Howard mentioning Jazz, though. Vince wrinkles his nose up in utter distaste, sticks his tongue out like he’s tasted something unpleasant. “Ugh, I should have known you’d be a jazz freak. That’s disgustin’. I’m not sure we can be friends anymore.” 

“Bit harsh,” Howard attempts to snap, but it manifests as a barked laugh instead. “Jazz is a musical work of genius worthy of recognition, sir.” 

Vince has settled in the grass, reclined back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. Looking far too relaxed to be uttering insults like, “Jazz is the death of music.” 

“How dare you.” And Howard would normally be quite annoyed at a statement like that. It should, more than anything prove that Vince is not the person he has been waiting for these five years. But then he grins over at him, teeth caught on his lower lip like he’s fighting a valiant battle not to let himself show how happy he is and it sets his heart beating in double time. “You take that back.” 

“I’ll be taking nothing back.” Vince sticks his tongue out and it’s as endearing as it is childish. “I’ll be leavin’ that out there for all to see.” 

“Child.” 

“Dullard.” 

It’s like music to him, the way they laugh together. So easy and relaxed you’d think they had known each other years rather than barely a day. 

“We need some music now.” Vince says, a thoughtful look crossing his face. Then he hops to his feet, _skips_ his way back into the cabin and fetches Howard's guitar - thrusting it into his hands. “Play me something.” He demands easily. 

Howard laughs, nervous. “What?” 

But Vince continues to insist; Howard has to take the guitar from him before it’s dropped to the floor. 

“I don’t-” And the eager look in his new friend’s eyes prevents him from saying no but he still stutters over his stage fright. “I don’t know what to play.” 

“Anything.” 

Howard clears his throat awkwardly. Fingers trembling. He knows Vince really wouldn’t say anything against him or his musical talent but he still finds himself frantically running through every song he ever learnt how to play and wondering which would be right. 

He’s still wondering what to play when Vince adds, “Anything but jazz,” the soft tease working wonders on the knot around his stomach. Releasing him from his panic and allowing him to strum out a few gentle chords. 

It’s not really one he learnt, or ever remembers writing really. It was the kind of tune that appeared in his head the day he arrived in this place and had never left again since. Sometimes he thinks he hears someone singing it; in his head. 

To his utter shock, a look of familiarity crosses Vince’s face, and the boy sings. 

_“_ _Are we to be married on the morrow my child or will I always be alone?_ _  
_ _Are we to be together forever and a day or will life always be this way?”_

Howard doesn’t even have to think, watching as Vince edges himself closer to the music, eyes locked on Howard’s. So many emotions flitting behind those cobalt irises - confusion, elation, intrigue. He sings back. 

_“Because I dreamed of a hedge_

_Where you laid your head_

_The grass was red_

_The seagull screamed_

_What can it mean?_

_Was it just a dream?_

_Am I too obscene for your eyes?”_

It doesn’t stop there. They make it through an entire rendition of their shared song with no pauses. There’s no need, they seem to naturally know when one or the other will take over, even when Vince dissolves into a passionate rambling verse Howard can only watch him in awe - eyes closed and swaying as he is - dutifully keeping his melody going. 

When it comes to its natural conclusion they are left, Vince breathing heavy from the exertion of it, Howard fighting the urge to avert his eyes. Because he can not mention all the things he knows, but that occurrence was a little harder to hide from. 

“Did you write that?” Vince asks him eventually, how he keeps his tone level, Howard will never know. 

“No.” He plucks at the strings just to give himself something to do. “No, I… I hear it.” 

“Me too.” Vince says. Howard braces himself for another tirade of questions about what it means. About who they are. But it doesn’t come, instead Vince just beams openly at him. “That’s genius, do you think it comes from this place?”

As baffled as he is at Vince’s chosen points of investigation, he just gapes at him. Mouth falling open and closed again before he settles on. “Uh - I think so. It must. I only started hearing it when I got here.” 

“I’ve been hearing it all my life.” Vince admits, he’s plucked a blade of grass from the ground, twists it in his fingers. “Used to wake up at night and hear it in my head, like something was talking to me.” 

_Something was._ Howard thinks; astonished Vince hasn’t started to piece together the context clues as easily as he had the ones about Howard. 

They’ve been sitting out here so long that the sun is setting, but Vince has no intention of heading home by the looks of things. Where he had shuffled closer to Howard, their shoulders brush with every movement either of them makes. Soft fabric of Vince’s shirt rubbing against his bare skin. 

“Shouldn’t you be heading home?” He says, mumbles really, tries to conceal how little he wants him to go. 

Vince shrugs carelessly, turns his head to look at him. “Why? You bored of me?” 

“No. No, not at all.” He hurries to say. “I just - haven’t you got people at home waiting for you?”

“Nope, Bryan’s away for ages. I’d be on me jack.” Vince is picking at the grass again. “Besides, I quite like it here.” This serves to make Howard blush crimson once more. “That and I think you need some company on this side of the woods, don’t you?” 

Lost for words, Howard just nods his head dumbly. 

“Good. Got a spare bed then?” 

***

Turns out Howard’s only got the one bedroom, but he’s a goatly gentleman and offers it to Vince without much of a thought. Vince tries to refuse, questions aloud how comfortable Howard’s legs are going to be on a sofa but that only makes the man more adamant to sleep there - as if out of spite. 

He settles down for the night unsure if he’s going to manage any sleep at all with the way his mind is racing with questions.

Firstly perhaps the least important of all his wonderings but the one that has him most puzzled - why do his sheets smell so good? If anything one might think they’d smell a bit like ram (as rude as that sounds). But no. It’s earthy with a hint of spice to it. Warm. Comforting. Does he find himself pressing his face into the pillow and grinning over this discovery? Perhaps, but he’s not going to be the one to look too much into it. 

Following that is the concern of Howard’s life here. It’s clear as day to him that the man is trapped against his will, unable to leave and by circumstances beyond his control. How had he come to be here? Has he tried to get out? And perhaps overshadowing all of that is the biggest wonder of them all - what he was like before he was the goat man of the woods? Did he have a human life somewhere waiting for him, a family. A girlfriend? 

No, after a day he already knows there’s no way Howard would ever be able to talk to women. There’s probably a woman he’d always fancied but never had the guts to approach. He’d bet those journals out there are crammed with poetry or something equally as romantic. Lamenting the lost loves he never really had.

The thought sends a rush of annoyance through him, which is another one of those things he pointedly isn’t going to look into. 

Next up on his contemplation list is Bryan, who would no doubt be furious with him should he know what was happening here now. 

This jaunt into the woods still hadn’t solved the initial mystery of Bryan’s inherent over protectiveness either - simply added more queries onto the pile. Sure, he knew he was a gifted child with his ability to communicate with animals, but he couldn’t expect to be holed up his entire life could he? Not over something so easily hidden. There’s got to be more, and Howard was walking proof of that. 

Sometimes he’d catch him looking at him. The hybrid is most likely completely unaware he’s even doing it, but he’s not very subtle. Stares at Vince like he’s the answer to all of his prayers wrapped in an unconventional coating. How he’d tensed when Vince told him Bryan told him he was special. 

And the song. Drawing him here for a reason. 

Somewhere along the line all these dots connect, he’s just not sure what kind of picture it’s going to leave him with. 

It was going to take more brain power than he has after a day of excitement like he’s had. Energy seeping from him, a battery on low. No, first he was going to have to have a little sleepy and then he’d start figuring it all out. 

After all, if his inkling was right then there was bound to be a way to break Howard free from here, and he was determined to find it.

*** 

Howard is awake before Vince, his body having long since set itself to the rising sun. 

It gives him plenty of time to cobble together some sort of breakfast for them both, though. Unused to having guests, he’d forgotten to feed Vince at all the day before, was honestly astonished the young man hadn’t demanded food from him as easily as he’d demanded a song and then a place to sleep. 

The thought brings a small smile to his face. Okay, it’s not a small smile at all. He’s grinning like a loon as he collects various fruits and starts to dice them, ready to put on quite a nice breakfast spread for his guest. 

It seems only fair to feed him well considering he’d decided overnight that he can’t keep secrets from Vince anymore and intended to spill the entire sordid tale of what was going on here. Regardless of how it would more than likely send the poor lad screaming back to his pseudo father, leaving Howard trapped here for the rest of his natural born life. 

But as he’d lain on the sofa he came to the uncomfortable conclusion that he’d grown to feel an undeniable amount of affection for Vince in only a day; which feels to be slightly creepy under the circumstances. 

A fruity breakfast is a decent send off, right? 

He’s in the process of setting all his sliced fruit into an aesthetically pleasing plate arrangement when a pair of sleepy blue eyes peek around the wall. “You got a bathroom or do you pee in the woods?” Comes a tired voice, and despite the fact he is clearly still half-asleep, he manages to inject a certain amount of cheek into his tone that has Howard automatically rolling his eyes in response. 

“To the left of the bedroom, you berk.” He shoots back - the eyes retreat once more. 

Once he hears the door click shut, Howard grabs the plate and the teapot he’s made and sets them on the small dining table. He’d never used this table before, tending to simply grab an apple to eat while he walked out of the door. Truth be told, there was a lot he had yet to use here - even in five years. Typically he would find himself spending most of his time in the great outdoors. Now that Vince has come along, he can imagine all sorts of reasons to keep using his furniture. 

Vince emerges bright eyed only a few minutes later; all traces of sleep wiped from his face, replaced with rosy cheeks and a pearly white smile. He slots into the chair opposite Howard like he’s always belonged there. 

“Morning.” He greets.

“I had the weirdest dream last night.” Vince replies instead of returning the sentiment, snapping up a few grapes and popping them in his mouth. He politely waits for Howard to indicate for him to continue before he goes on. “Something awful was trying to get me but I didn’t know what it was - all dark smoke and these glowing red eyes.” 

The apple he’s munching on loses some of its appeal. The startling familiar image being described to him makes him gaze hopelessly at Vince, perhaps in terror - or maybe in pity. 

He didn’t think it would get to him that fast. It’d barely been a full twenty four hours since he arrived. 

“You alright?” 

_I should tell him._ He thinks, what he says is - “Yeah. Fine. That’s a strange dream.”

“Well weird, isn’t it?” 

“Hm.” He drowns his guilt in his tea. “What did you want to do today?” 

It’s a blessing in disguise that Vince is as easily distracted as a small child; his eyes light up at the question. “Can we go back to the river?” He asks, eager. “And, have you got any paints or crayons or anythin’? I’d quite like to draw it.” 

“Might be the only thing I don’t have here, to be honest.” Howard chuckles. “Only really got pens.”

“Yeah, and a fancy quill like an old English gentleman.” 

“I _am_ an old English gentleman.” Vince giggles around his mouthful of bananas. Howard forms a plan, “Why don’t you get something from home?”

The giggling stops, gives way to an expression of worry. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” 

“No!” Without thinking he reaches out to plant a comforting hand on Vince’s arm. “No, I’m just not sure how well you’ll get on with a quill - thought you wanted to give me some colour?” Vince mulls it over, Howard adds, “I’ll even walk you to the border and wait for you to get back.” 

That’s the tipping point. Vince has many smiles, and Howard has already become privy to a vast array of them, the one he gets now is a gentle, demure thing. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Howard chooses not to mention that, as much as it’s going to hurt, somewhere deep down he prays to gods he doesn’t believe in that there will be someone at Vince’s home waiting for him. Catch him in the act of his secret mission and prevent him from coming back here ever again. 

For his own good. 

***

It feels horrible going back to his own side of the woods. Like the colour’s draining from the world right in front of his eyes; senses dulling. It's like being displaced from the place he truly belongs, he thinks, which makes him feel a bit sick to his stomach. 

No time to linger over that saddening fact; he promised Howard he’d be back in no longer than an hour. 

The quicker he gets back the better he will feel. 

That’s why he all but sprints back down the dirt path to where Bryan’s cottage resides. A combination of trying to be as quick as possible and also trying to avoid the ever watching eyes of his many animal babysitters - the lot of them would take any opportunity to run to his pseudo father and tell on him. 

Inside the house it’s a bit of a mad scramble, because actually being here it doesn’t feel like enough to put his art supplies in a satchel. In the end he reaches for a duffel from under his bed; crams as many clothes as he can fit into it along with his makeup bag, his toiletries, his art supplies, his magazines _and_ his portable CD player. 

He’s reaching for a second pair of boots to take when he hears the scrape of claws on the wooden doorway. 

There’s nothing he wants to do less than deal with who he can already hear nattering on the other side of that door. But answering it is going to be the lesser of two evils considering the other option will likely draw attention to exactly what he’s trying to get away with. 

“Alright, Jahuli.” He greets, swinging the door on its hinges to find the leopard stretching leisurely in the entryway. “Bit early for you, innit?” 

_Where have you been?_ Is the response that comes.

“What you on about?” He’s never been a great actor but he likes to think the confusion he puts on is convincing. 

It isn’t. 

_I came looking for you last night and you weren’t home._ The way feline features still manage to convey a rather human sense of a frown is nothing short of unsettling. _I was concerned._

“Went out for a bit.” 

_Where?_

Vince folds his arms over his chest defiantly, stares over at his feline friend with his hip cocked and his expression blank. The animal stalks inside the hut and stretches his neck to press his wet nose against the skin of his forearm. 

_Why do you smell like goat?_

“What do you want, Jahuli?” Vince tries his best to keep his eyes from the half packed duffel on the sofa, lest the animal figure out something is afoot. “I don’t need a babysitter anymore, remember?” 

Jahuli takes a slow stroll around him, scenting the air. _You were with someone. Bryan won’t be happy you know how he feels about you meeting with people_

“What people? The only other people I ever get to see are the postman and Bryan’s singer friends.” Vince snaps, snatches for his bag without a care - he’d figure it out soon enough anyway. Even at eighteen it was going to be fairly obvious when a child runs away from home. He was wary of the fact he’d promised Howard he’d only be an hour. Didn’t want him worrying. “I’m not a child anymore, he can’t keep me hidden from the world forever.” 

Jahuli is hot on his heels when he storms away, heading for the North side of the forest. 

_It’s for your own protection, Vince, you know this._

“Protection from _what!”_ He screeches, stops his marching in order to stamp his feet - childish perhaps, but necessary to convey his annoyance. 

Jahuli only looks at him. Silence. Like there had been for eighteen years. No one telling him why he couldn’t see anyone ever. No one ever answering his questions. No one bothered to explain to him where his parents were or why he could talk to animals when no one else could. Why he was supposed to stay under someone’s supervision almost constantly. 

“Right then.” He storms off again, duffel knocking against his side as he struts. 

_You shouldn’t go there, Vince!_ The leopard calls, hastens to catch up with him. He doesn’t stop and so far Jahuli isn’t trying to _make_ him stop. At least not physically, but he tries his best to do so verbally. _He’s dangerous._

Vince stops dead.

The implications of that statement are sinking in; and there are a _lot_ of implications that can be explored from those two words alone. Enough that it must be a solid minute before Vince can even find it in himself to turn and lock eyes with the cat. 

What he settles on is, “You knew he was out there?” 

The animal's head dips in what Vince recognises as a nod. Vince is overcome with a wave of emotion. Deep and red hot in his veins. Not for himself but for Howard. Trapped in an (albeit beautiful) prison for years with no company to speak of. No one trying to find a way out for him. And they all knew. 

“Why did no one help him?” 

_There are things you don’t understand, Vince._

He barks a humourless laugh. “You think?” He snaps. “I don’t understand why no one will tell me a _fucking thing_ around here.” 

When he’s met only with silence he asks a new question. “Is he what everyone wanted me to stay away from?” 

Silence. Probably means yes.

“Look, you can keep all your fairy tales and your ghost stories.” He sets his shoulders, determined. “I happen to think he’s harmless.” 

Then Jahuli’s eyes widen, in any other circumstance it would be a hilarious thing to witness, but Vince finds himself glad he’s managed to provoke a reaction from a usually stoic creature. _Did you spend the night with_ him? 

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business.” 

Jahuli is moving towards him now, a slow prowl. _You need to come back to the house._

“No.”

_I’m not kidding, Vince._

Vince just narrows his eyes. “You think I was?”

Jahuli’s stance shifts and Vince has only a split second to decide if he thinks he can out run a _literal predator_. Even then it’s going to be a gamble whether or not Jahuli will follow him through to the other forest with the intention of dragging him home kicking and screaming. Whatever the case, he thinks he’d feel much braver if Howard was at his side. 

He goes for it. Turns tail and sprints. Jahuli is after him within a split second; sharp teeth nipping at his clothes and almost gaining enough purchase to stop him. But Vince has the advantage of having grown up playing tag with wild animals; he knows how to dodge out of the way of swiping paws and snapping jaws. 

Tumbling through the invisible barrier finds him tripping over his own feet and rolling to land right at Howard’s hooves. He’s up in an instant, lacing his fingers with the other man’s and tugging hard to get him to his feet too. “We have to go!” He shouts, not ceasing in his urgent pulling despite how Howard seems to be unmoving. “Jahuli was at- at the house, he’s coming and-”

“He won’t come through.” 

Vince pauses, panting for breath. “What do you mean, he was- How do you know?” 

Howard sighs, seems to weigh something up mentally before he gives the hand he’s still holding a small comforting squeeze. His face is painted with shame, eyes downcast as he admits. “Because no one but _you_ can get through.”


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting some of the answers he is looking for, Vince comes to understand more about the world around him. Meanwhile, Howard does his best not to drown in his own guilt, and mostly, just tries his best to take care of this energetic Fae child. Overall, though, there's a lot of bonding going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again massive thanks and kudos to @captainfoxgloves on tumblr for allowing me to use their art as inspiration for this whole fairy tale - I hope it continues to do the source material justice!

“You what?” 

He regrets having ever said a thing as soon as the information is out there, hanging between them like day old helium balloons - but Vince’s panic didn’t sit right against his skin and more than anything he’d wanted to fix it. Even if it meant outing himself as the potential villain in this story... And it’s not like it wasn’t true. 

Hadn’t he  _ that morning _ decided he should tell the truth? 

“You’re the only one who can get through the barrier.” Perhaps if he continues repeating himself then eventually Vince will just  _ know _ , and save him the trouble of having to explain. 

No such luck. Vince stares blankly at him, reluctantly pries his hand from where it had still been clinging to Howard's, and then he takes a firm step backwards. It makes Howard’s stomach turn to see his eyes are filled with distrust. “I don’t understand.” 

His brain is so crammed full of his own anxiety, seeping into the gaps and filling it with nothing but an internal screeching of alarm, that he finds it rather difficult to form a quick  _ and  _ coherent response to his new friend’s suspicion. He’s left just sort of spouting disjointed vowels at him while he tries to piece it together. 

“Howard, what’s going on.” And there’s such an edge of fear to his voice that Howard is almost physically bowled over. “Jahuli he... He said you were dangerous.” 

“I’m not!” Howard holds his arms up immediately, innocuous in nature and pathetically pleading. “Come on, Vince, if I was going to hurt you I would have done it last night wouldn’t I?” 

Vince seems to mull this thought over for a second, clutching his duffel bag to himself like a shield, misty eyes darting up and down his form as if weighing up his choices. Finally, he puffs a barely there laugh. “I s’pose. That was the creepiest thing you could have said just then, though.” 

Howard finds it in himself to laugh, drops his hands back by his sides. “There are just things-”

“That I don’t understand.” Vince finishes the sentence for him, his tone a low monotone drawl of boredom over a sentiment he must have heard expressed a million times in his short life.“I’m gettin’ really sick of everyone telling me what I will and won’t understand.” 

Howard swallows thickly, shifts uncomfortably where he stands. For a man so much younger than him (and you know, a regular human being), Vince harbors an incredible ability to intimidate him with sheer confidence alone. Never mind he is a fine slip of a thing, made up of slim limbs and angles at every juncture, the way he stands with his feet planted stubbornly and his arms now crossing his chest in an act of defiance is nothing short of unnerving for Howard. He finds himself hunching his broad shoulders when Vince demands, “Tell me what’s goin’ on.” 

“I’m not sure it’s really my place-” 

“Bit late for that.” 

Which is fair. The cat was so far out of the bag that it was off chasing mice and getting belly rubs. At this point he may as well be the one petting it - if he wanted to beat that particular metaphor to death. None of this stops him making one last ditch attempt to wriggle out of having to explain, though. “I mean, I don’t  _ really  _ know much, I’m probably not going to be that helpful-” Vince rolls his eyes hard enough that it appears painful; he grabs for Howard’s hand once more begins tugging him away from the border. “Where are we going?” 

“To the river.” Vince answers, casts a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “I want to draw and you’re going to tell me  _ everything  _ you know.” 

He should have known the moment he met him; where Vince was concerned he never really stood a chance. 

***

Vince is completely unapologetic in how long he takes to choose his spot by the river. The reason for this is two-fold. Firstly he wants to make sure he’s got a good view of the landscape around them; one that speaks to him artistically. Secondly, if the way Howard is fidgeting is anything to go by then he is fairly sure the conversation they’re about to have is going to be an extended one. It’s going to be vital for them to be comfy for the long haul. 

Really, it’s not like Howard was in any position to gripe at him, no matter how he clearly wants to. The man is hovering barely an arms length away from him, observing his process with a single raised eyebrow and a false mask of calm over his features. Fidgety fingers give his anxiety away, tugging sporadically at fur where his hands hang by his sides. 

Even after he selects what he deems to be a spot perfectly attuned to his vision and drops into a seated position, Howard just continues to stand by his side silently. As if waiting for marching orders. Supposes he hadn’t been doing anything to dissuade that idea since finding out Howard was hiding things from him. 

Vince begins to root through his bag for his sketchbook. “You can start explaining yourself at any point you know.” 

For a second, the briefest of things, Howard looks like he’s going to try and argue the point once more. Wriggle out of it. But then he deflates, drops to sit by Vince’s side with his legs crossed and utters, “I wasn’t lying. I really don’t know that much - only what’s been told to me.” 

“Then tell me that part.” 

There’s a look of someone doing complicated arithmetic, searching for the best place in this tale to start, no doubt. “It’s a prophecy thing, Vince.” He begins ominously, making Vince pause in his search for his red pencils, frowning up at Howard until the man elaborates. “About you.” 

“Tha’s pretty vague, Howard.” 

“Well, I’m trying to build intrigue.” He’s  _ still _ picking at his own fur covered legs, twisting the strands anxiously. 

“Right… Maybe leave the story telling to me, yeah?” Vince says, maintaining the playful edge to his tone so that Howard doesn’t feel too scolded. “I jus’ wanna know what’s going on.” 

“Okay, alright.” Resigned, Howard nods his head, Vince finally flips his sketchbook to a fresh page to draw as he listens. “It’s written that there will be a Fae child who, when they cross into the woods, will put an end to an evil curse-” 

“Hang on, you just said a bunch of stuff I don’t understand.” He tilts his head to the side, curious. “You’re gonna have to tell me what Fae means.” 

It gives Howard one of those looks again, the same tense expression he’d had the day before when they had talked about how he could talk to animals. Disbelieving and concerned all mixed into a heady cocktail of someone who didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. 

And then he says the most bonkers thing Vince has ever heard. “Fairies, or at least descendants from them.” 

It’s a wonder he doesn’t fall over with how that slaps him in the face. “Wha’” 

“You - I don’t know why Bryan chose not to tell you about it… You’re the Fae child, Vince.” 

To his own credit it takes remarkably little time for him to come to terms with that information. In some ways it’s something he should have seen coming - it’s not exactly a common occurrence for people to talk to animals is it? He finds himself just nodding his head numbly, unsure what else he can really say. 

“You okay?” Howard asks, perhaps he doesn’t  _ look  _ as calm as he feels. 

This time he shakes his head. Asks, “How did you - are you sure?” 

“Pretty sure.” The other man nods, reaches out with one hesitant hand to cup at his arm in an act of comfort. “You glow.” 

“I what?” And that information does have a small smile spreading on his features, because that’s pretty genius isn’t it; a person glowing? “I glow? What colour, am I like a glow stick?”

Howard snorts ungracefully at him. “Don’t be silly. No, you just - it’s a bit like a fireflies.” He isn’t sure why it makes him flush crimson and avert his gaze but it does. Up until Howard nudges his hand against Vince’s smaller one; tugging it gently from his sketchbook and holding the spread palm in his line of sight. “Look.” 

Now that he cares to look, he is. The usually pale skin of his hands has taken on a soft golden like luminosity. He’s never noticed it doing that before, which only adds more questions to his list of confusions; like is it only something he can do here? Or has he simply never found the right stimulus to make it happen before now. 

“That’s genius!” He exclaims, wiggles his fingers experimentally. “What does it mean? What else can I do?” 

Vince’s enthusiasm is contagious enough to allow Howard to chuckle along with him. “I don’t know, but talking to animals is a pretty big gift, isn’t it?” 

This is true, he agrees with a hum. His skin continues to gleam as he clenches his hands into fists; tenses and relaxes muscles, testing out what affects it. The annoyance and confusion of this revelation is still swirling in the pit of his stomach; for the moment though, he can bask in the comfortable sensation of joy inspired by Howard and his newfound gift. 

It’s only so long before his questions threaten to overwhelm him, though. 

“When you said I was the only one who can get over the border…” He starts, pull them back into the serious enough that Howard removes the contact they’d still shared. “Is that because I’m one of these Fae things?” 

Howard agrees with a bob of his head. “This is where you’re from, I think.” 

He remembers the sense he’d had when he left; emptiness. Like he didn’t quite fit into the outside world anymore. How right it felt to be sat here, in the red grass with a lilac stream by his side - to have furry legs brushing against his and warm brown eyes peeking at him from under soft brown curls. 

And that wasn’t all. If everything Howard was saying was true then this is what Bryan had been keeping him from all these years, his real home. Finding out who he was. Finding his family, which - “You… You said there was no one out here but you.” The implications of which were, in fact, not that good. Howard knows this too, avoids his gaze. “Has there ever been anyone else?” 

“No. I’m sorry.” 

Vince dips his head, doesn’t allow himself to wallow in the disappointment of that too long. He knew that answer was coming before he’d even asked the question so really he’d be stupid to get upset over it. He’d been without parents for eighteen years, did he really think he’d stumble over this border and magically get everything? Unlikely. Though Bryan is in for one hell of a chat when he gets back.

If Vince finds it in himself to go back, that is.

“Right,” He clears his throat, and with that action alone wrestles his sunshine persona back into place. “So there’s some kind of prophecy or somethin’ written about me coming here and what? Putting an end to some evil?” 

“That’s about the sum of it.” 

Well, it’s a lot to take in, that’s for certain. But knowing is better than continuing to flaunt about out of the loop. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to go about stopping any evil - never mind where this evil supposedly is. 

“What about you, then?” He asks, detracting away from the sympathetic look that Howard is giving him. “Where do you fit into all of this, goat man?” 

The name doesn’t offend him like it did when they first met, rather it makes him grin, eyes glinting with amusement. No answers are forthcoming though, the man just tries to brush him off. “Nowhere important.” 

“As if,” Vince cries, mock outrage. “I can’t be the only one having all their mystic secrets spilled. Why can’t you leave, is it the evil thing?” 

There’s a reluctance about it, but Howard nods his head. Which gives Vince enough context clues for him to then ask, “If I do what I’m supposed to - put an end to this evil thing, will you be able to leave?” Again, a forced nod. “Will you be human again?” 

“Vince-” 

“Right then.” It was enough of an answer to give Vince a sense of purpose. “What do I have to do? What’s the rest of the prophecy?” 

“You can’t just turn up and fight evil,” Howard says; the look in his eye similar to that of a parent trying to prevent their child doing something dangerous. 

“‘Course I can. Prophecy says so.” Vince squints at him, suspicious. He seemed pretty adamant that Vince shouldn’t fulfill his destiny. Surely him coming along was the answer to many of his prayers; it was an opportunity to leave, so why did he still seem so reluctant to let it happen. “What have I got to do?” 

The faun squints right back at him. “You’re doing nothing.” 

“Why you so against fighting evil?” 

“I’m not,” Howard huffs at him. His arms cross defiantly across his chest. “In principle.” 

Ah, so that’s it. “You scared, Howard?” 

“No.” That is potentially the biggest lie Vince has ever been told; and he has spent eighteen years of his life thinking he was a completely normal child. 

He sets his sketchpad aside for the moment, alters his seated position so he is a mirror of Howard’s. They sit facing one another, both cross legged, knees just barely touching. Howard’s hands continue to finger at his fur, Vince lets his own rest calmly in his lap. “Have you seen it?” He asks instead. “Whatever it is I’m supposed to be fixing, this evil thing?” 

He doesn’t have to answer, nor even nod. Vince knows he has the second his eyes dart away from him; landing instead on something over his shoulder. Refusing to make eye contact. Howard’s gaze was already quite darty, flitting about from pillar to post in an almost shifty manner, but this wasn’t like that. His gaze was locked in place, as intent as it was on not looking at Vince. His whole body had gone unnaturally still, in fact. 

Literally paralyzed with fear. 

Vince doesn’t say anything, lets the cogs of Howard’s panicked brain turn of their own accord. He does reach out though. Howard had told him not to touch him once, and yet, he feels like it’s exactly what he needs right now. Distraction through touch. Careful fingers reach out and drag against Howard’s fur, bumping against the man’s fingers in the process. It’s the first time he’s really touched him like this. Only felt the coarse hair by accident as it brushed him. It’s not as rough as one might imagine; it’s actually rather soft. 

Vince suddenly gets the hilarious image of Howard shampooing his legs. 

He looks up to his face, grin splitting his features, intending to ask if that’s something he does - divert them with humour - but he is stopped dead by the fact that he makes eye contact with the other man. Howard staring down at him with something unreadable in his gaze. 

All at once Vince finds himself blushing and pulling his hand back, “Sorry.” 

“No it’s-” Howard's voice is hoarse, he clears his throat roughly. “It’s fine. You weren’t- I was just-” Whatever it is he’s trying to say is given up on with a heaved sigh, but Vince is reassured enough to return his hands to the fur. There’s a rhythmic thumping that he distantly registers must be Howard’s little tail flapping against the ground. 

“It wants you.” Howard says finally; gravely. Which explains his reluctance to send Vince off fighting. Vince looked up at him, giving the smallest of nods which encourages him to continue. “It was trapped here to stop it getting to you - if you try to do something then…” He doesn’t have to say the rest. Looks like it would pain him to have to. They have become such fast friends that he must admit, if the roles were reversed he wouldn’t be too keen about Howard running off after it. “Your friend was right, you being here is dangerous.” 

Vince is hearing what he’s saying, but there’s a piece of the picture missing enough that he disregards all of it and instead presses on the point that interests him most. “You’re here for a reason too, Howard, you can’t tell me you’re not.” 

“I’m telling you you’re in mortal danger and you’re still being a nosey tit.” Howard sighs, but it is a fond thing. “Unbelievable, I should leave you to get swallowed up.” 

“But you’d never do that.” Vince says, he pushes himself back from Howard, detangles his fingers from that fur and reaches for his sketchbook again. “You like me too much.” 

“Like is a strong word.” 

Vince raises one delicate eyebrow at him, allows a slow, calculated smirk to grace his features. “Oh, really?”

Howard swallows thickly, senses he is in trouble but can’t help himself. “I tolerate you.” 

“Just tolerate?” 

“Mhm.” Howard flushes, even he must be aware of how the dull  _ thud thud thud  _ coming from behind him gives him away somewhat. 

Making a point to draw out the action as much as possible; Vince sets one hand behind him and leans back enough that he can get a good look at the little tail. It’s wriggling around in it’s joy, Vince is inclined to believe it has a mind of it’s own and would want nothing more than to show how happy it is to be around him. Howard blushes further. 

“Shut up.” The faun snaps at him. His whole body shifting his position and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I didn’t say a thing.” Vince replies, though he thinks his whole expression may just give away that while he doesn’t say anything he is certainly thinking it. Putting voice to things like that feels a bit too much, however, especially given the short time they’ve known each other. But he’s reluctant to return to the seriousness of their previous conversation either so he points sternly at him. “Stay there.” 

Howard blinks at him, confused, but he doesn’t move. Vince shifts his own position again; lays himself comfortably on his stomach with his sketchpad in front of him. Howard remains with his legs crossed, body at an angle from Vince’s own so that what he sees is a nice side profile look to him with the forest acting as a background. 

“What you doing?” Howard asks a moment later. 

Vince answers without bothering to look up from where his pencil is connected with the paper. “Drawing you.” 

This answer flusters Howard so much he ends up just letting it happen. 

***

The speed at which Vince appears to get over his emotional whiplash is as surprising as it is concerning from Howard’s point of view. It simply doesn’t seem healthy how he completely drops the topic of his heritage in favour of sketching a rather abstract and colourful rendition of Howard’s form. 

It’s like watching a toddler recover from the tears over a fall as soon as you offer them a sweet. Flicking from panic and confusion to utter contentment in the blink of an eye. 

There was a lot of information that had just been brought into the open, and Vince was not stupid as he pretended to be, he surely knew there was a lot more to come. Yet, there he was smudging the harsh lines of pencil strokes with his thumb, tongue peeking from his mouth as he focused on his art project. 

It’s not like he’d known him long enough to comment on whether this behaviour was typical, either. For all he knew Vince was just so in touch with his emotions that he dealt with them maturely and quickly all by himself and that was that. Did his initial impressions of the man support this theory? Nope. Not even a bit. 

Vince was effervescent in the most electric way. His joy was worn on his sleeve like a badge of honour - and that wasn’t even just because he glowed when he was happy - and his sadness, even as fleeting as it had been, was intense. Every minute emotion that flits across his expressive features burns like the light of the sun and it’s unmissable. It was frankly a little bit of a stretch to believe that this consuming way of feeling he boasted would be easy to pass over.

More likely, Howard thinks there’s some repressing going on. Served with a healthy side order of distraction and topped with the inevitable breaking of a dam that sits on the horizon. Eighteen years of misinformation being brought to light like that was surely not a thing people just  _ got over.  _ Howard can see this leading somewhere a bit not good eventually. 

On the upside; at least while he was here pretending he hadn’t just had some world changing realisations, then he isn’t off doing something stupid and dangerous because of a perceived sense of duty. 

_ Where do you fit into all of this?  _

And wasn’t that just a great big cosmic joke if he ever heard one. 

How the tables would turn if Vince knew that the very person he wanted to throw himself into the jaws of the beast for was, in fact, the whole reason they were in this predicament in the first place. 

Where did Howard fit into this? He was the trigger. 

“Don’t pull that face, I’m not drawing that.” 

Howard snaps from his thoughts, frowns at Vince. He had been shifting positions sporadically throughout his drawing secession. From lying on his stomach to up on his knees and every potential posture in between; he created as if something was trying to fight its way out of him, buzzed on energy and erratic. As he is now he is sat on his knees, sketch book cradled in one arm and coloured pencils equipped in the other. 

“What face?” He furrows his brow even further. 

“That one!” Vince extends a delicate finger in his direction. “Looks like you’re sucking on a lemon. Havin’ all these deep and serious thoughts. It ain’t good for you, and I’m not drawing it. Think of something nice.” 

_ Like you? _

It’s surely a complete coincidence that exactly as that thought crosses his mind; flooded mentally with images of Vince’s smile, his pearly teeth on show as he laughed. The ever shifting shade of his gaze fills his mind's eye, stormy when annoyed but azure and clear when he’s calm. The  _ glowing;  _ he’s lit up like a Christmas tree right now, as it happens. In the quick moment all of that darts around inside his head; that's when Vince makes a sound of triumph. “That’s good, stay like that.” 

Right then. 

Just following orders, then, isn’t he? 

Vince turns his face back to his creation; Howard watches on, unabashed in his observations. He has now dropped the sketchbook in the grass and, still on his knees, leans over to plant his weight on one hand beside the paper while the other adds colour with frantic jerky movements of his wrist. His eyes are pinched slightly, but alight with focus; teeth caught on his lip. 

He’s beautiful, and the realisation of how much his whole body sings just being near to him is such a bittersweet feeling he finds he can’t really look at him anymore.

It’s not even like the fact he had tripped head first into such infatuation after only one day is the most surprising thing about all of this. He knew this would happen. This was exactly what was  _ supposed  _ to happen. 

Arguably the most surprising thing was Vince being as receptive to the attention, whether knowingly or not, as he has been so far. 

The only thing Howard was more afraid of than Vince finding out about his involvement in the creation of this mess, was the part of the prophecy that laid out their intended future. Howard was of the opinion that being told you were destined to fall in love with someone might potentially put a damper on the relationship - and Vince certainly seemed headstrong enough to reject that part of the writings out of pure  _ spite.  _

Thus far, Howard had played his part perfectly even when he tried not to. 

The book said to wait for the Fae child and he had. For five years. It had also said he’d be instantly drawn to them, and despite the shock of Vince not being the pretty lady he had expected, he couldn’t deny he had fallen into good company with him  _ immediately.  _ Daresay falling in love with Vince in the space of  _ a single day  _ was almost exactly what this bloody prophecy wanted from him. 

Didn’t stop him feeling like he was on the fence for creepy behaviour. He was falling for a man who so far had no say in his own life, and if they continued on this road would be unlikely to have any for the foreseeable future. 

He’d been so lost in his inner turmoil he forgets the boy is sat right beside him. He’d relaxed into the sunshine, weight resting on his arms planted behind his back and eyes slipping shut to best appreciate the warmth. 

A stark reminder of another presence is that he suddenly finds himself with a weight dropping into his lap. 

Startling from his reverie he flails, almost completely dislodging the man who had splayed across his furry legs with a cheeky smile. Out of instinct he reaches out to steady him, preventing him from going tumbling to the floor. “What are you doing?” He squeaks. 

“Come on, your hairy pins probably make great cushions.” Vince says easily, lays himself so his head is pillowed against Howard’s thigh. The process of gaping like a fish starts almost instantly, his best attempt to articulate exactly why this was a terrible idea, but the smug little prick has already closed his eyes. He wriggles around to get comfy. “I think I’m gonna have a little sleepy in the sun.” 

“In my lap?” Astonishingly, his voice continues to climb in pitch with his flustered nature. 

“Why, problem?” He asks. 

Plenty he could name but none he  _ wanted  _ to. 

Besides, any argument he could formulate likely won’t be listened to by the - and he says this with as much affection as is possible - bratty child that Vince presents himself as. He has already gone still, sighing deep breaths through his nose. 

In this and likely in many ways yet to present themselves, Howard was resigned to letting Vince do what he wants. 

***

Vince returns to the land of the conscious slowly, and the first thing he registers is the repetitive motion of the petting he’s getting from Howard. 

Without even opening his eyes to look he can be certain the action is likely a subconscious one, purely because if the faun was putting any thought into what he was doing,  _ whatsoever,  _ then he was certain each pull of the fingers through his hair would be a lot more disjointed with anxiety. Howard overthinks. 

He also knows as soon as he indicates he is awake it’s going to stop. 

The following minute or two is spent indulging in the contact before he realises his neck is starting to ache a little in this position. He can’t just ‘wake up’ either, otherwise he will be catching Howard in the act and his embarrassment will be stifling. The solution is simple. He hums gently, stretches like a contented cat, and like expected the fingers retreat from the mass of his hair long before he blinks his eyes open to peer up at his new friend. 

“Hi.” He greets, voice rough with his nap. Worried about the poor rams legs getting numb under his weight, Vince levers himself into a seated position.

“Afternoon.” Attempting to be subtle but once again demonstrating his complete inability to be anything but as transparent as a window, Howard snaps shut the sketchbook he had apparently been scribbling in while Vince slept. 

There’s not a chance to ask about it either, Howard’s tiny brown eyes shimmer with concern. “How are you feeling?” 

Rather than chirp an immediately positive answer like he might have earlier, Vince actually takes a moment to really think about it. " _ Mostly _ okay." 

“Mostly?" It’s repeated back to him with such disbelief that Vince finds himself chuckling around yawn.

"Yeah.” He throws his arms above his head, stretches deliciously. “I’d say about Eighty percent okay and Ten percent angry.” 

Howard smirks, the air around them filled with his obvious pride at being the smarter half of this duo as he announces, “I think you’re missing ten percent there, Vince.” 

It takes a moment, his hand stilling where it had been ruffling through his flattened hair, but with the cock of his head and a moment to do a bit of - what to him is pretty complicated - maths. He drops his mouth open in an ‘O’, cheeks flushing at his mistake. “Nah, that was intentional.” He fibs. 

"Really. What's the last ten percent, then?"

"Hungry."

Howard chuckles at him, accepts the defeat. “Get up then.” He nudges at his side, clambering to his own hooved feet. “I suppose since you've all but moved in with me I should provide you some food."

Up until this exact moment he’d been so wrapped up in a whirlwind of everything that had occurred, he had rather forgotten the part where he had all but thrown himself at Howard’s feet with a bag of clothes and no intention of leaving. Howard does not reprimand him further, though, simply scoops up the bag and throws it over his shoulder like the true gentleman he is while he gathers his art supplies to his chest. 

With a sweeping gesture that Vince reads as,  _ shall we?  _ They set off walking at a leisurely pace.

It takes all of five minutes before he finds himself swimming with questions and no desire to restrain himself. “How  _ do _ you get food?” 

“I go to the Tesco's ‘round the corner.” Howard says, deadpan. “I grow it. I have a garden around the back of my cabin.” 

“That’s so cute.” Vince coos, peering up at Howard, beaming at him even as he finds ways to poke holes in his friend’s story. “But, what about things you can’t grow? ‘Cause I’m not bein’ funny Howard we were drinking Earl Grey with breakfast and I’m just not sure how your garden gives you that.” 

Howard cuts a glance at him, one that speaks to how unimpressed he is about this particular attempt at humour. “Some things just… appear.” 

“Wot, like magic?” 

“I suppose.” Howard shrugs his shoulders at him, Vince would be annoyed at the vague nature of this response but this is the first time in the whole two days he’s known him that Howard is answering his questions without first trying to get out of it. “I’ve never questioned it.” 

Vince gapes at him. “Unbelievable.” He accuses. “All this weird stuff happening around you and you’re not curious as to why?” 

“Curiosity killed the cat, Vince.” Howard reprimands; and it is a truly amazing thing how he manages to bolster himself up with a false ego. Laying out common idioms like law. “That’s what people say. Ignorance is bliss.” 

“If ignorance was bliss there’d be more happy people.” 

Howard’s legs stop moving, Vince almost completely over takes him in his shock at the suddenness of it. He has to stop walking himself and turn to look at Howard; the man’s face is a picture of utter bafflement. “What- How can you do that?” 

“What?” Vince actually has to look over each shoulder, his posture shifting with guilt, as if he has actually done something worth being ashamed of. “What’ve I done.” 

“Just…” Howard shakes his head, dislodging a thought. “Sometimes you manage to sound so… Smart.” 

“Oh cheers.” Luckily, Vince is more than aware of his own mental capacity and he knows it’s not that great, so all he does is shrug both shoulders. He does jab his head sharply back down the path they were walking. “Now can we keep going? I’m wasting away here.” 

“Well we can’t have that.” Howard makes a show of rolling his eyes, but he carries on walking with him. 

They don’t talk the rest of the way home but Vince can feel the way Howard is casting him glances as if he were a walking Rubik’s Cube. Unsolvable. 

***

Howard culinary skills are actually quite impressive, if he does say so himself. Though, it has been a considerable amount of time since he last cooked for another person, and even longer since he felt the need to impress the person he was cooking for. 

Vince has settled himself on the counter top, legs kicking childishly against the cabinets as he watches him potter between his fridge and cupboards, wondering what he can possibly cobble together with his supplies that won’t be too complicated and yet will  _ look  _ like a masterpiece. 

“So…” His hesitant voice comes, and the tone is one Howard has come to expect to mean he’s going to ask questions despite the very real risk Howard will get upset at him for doing it. “Your cupboards just magically refill? No one comes to do it for you, there isn’t a place you go to get it or anythin’ they just…” He mimes what Howard interprets as a little explosion. “Poof. More food.” 

It had been made very clear to him when they first met, there is always the option for Howard to  _ not  _ answer, but the prat will likely just keep asking until he gets what he’s looking for. In the end it’s going to be less of a hassle to just tell him what he wants to know. 

“Basically.” He sighs. Snatches some vegetables to begin chopping and dicing them. “If I use something then it’s back again the day after.” 

“Wow.” Vince sounds genuinely awed, his eyes track Howard as he moves from counter to counter. “That’s actually pretty ideal but… But why?” 

And Howard isn’t completely dense. He has thought about this before, but all the conclusions he comes to are ones he’d rather not consider. Especially any idea that involves him acting as literal bait for Vince, provided for like an animal being fed up before it’s taken to slaughter. He must take too long to answer, because from where he’s perched Vince sighs at him. “You must have wondered, there’s no way someone like  _ you _ just accepts weird things happening to them.” 

Howard stops chopping vegetables long enough to raise his brow at Vince. “Someone like me?” 

“Yeah all-” Vince waves his hand about in an all encompassing gesture. “Logical and dull.” 

“As opposed to fantastical and hyper?” 

Vince giggles at him and it’s another instance of hi’s natural beauty being rubbed in Howard’s face - eyes gleaming and teeth on show; cheeks dimpled with his joy. 

“Alright, you mentalist, I was just sayin’.” He goes back to chopping his vegetables, Vince lets him stew in his silence for all of three minutes. “How did you find out about this prophecy then? Did you know about it before you came or did you find out after? Did the wind tell you?” 

“I don’t get on with the wind.” Is what Howard chooses to respond with. It works as a deterrent from the original topic, at least, makes Vince snort into his glass of water and nearly spit his mouthful all over the kitchen. 

Bumping his fist to his chest to dislodge any water stuck in his airways, Vince’s giggles morph into loud joyous cackles. “You’re the only person I know that the  _ wind  _ could not like." 

“How do you know it’s the wind not liking me? Maybe  _ I  _ don’t like the wind.”

“Nah. The wind definitely hates you.” Vince decides. “Bet the trees have got beef with you too.” 

As much as Howard doesn’t want to give credence to his claims, he can’t help but reluctantly bob his head in agreement. It was in fact true that he had had one or more falling outs with the forest - he apparently didn’t speak the language as well as he liked. 

“This just keeps getting better and better.” Vince says. Howard doesn’t add any further comment, keeps chopping while Vince watches on. He twirls a lock of hair between his fingers. 

Silence never lingers long in the presence of this man, “Seriously, was there a book or?” And curse his guilty eyes for choosing that moment to squint suspiciously, because Vince cries in triumph. “There is! There’s a book! Do you have it here?” 

Vince is reluctant to wait for an answer, leaps off the counter and turns as if to make a beeline for the bookshelves on the far wall - but Howard is equipped with some pretty quick reflexes too, reaches out and snags Vince’s wrist to pull him up short. 

The younger man spins on his heel and glares defiantly up at Howard, who this close has to tilt his chin down in order to frown sternly at him in return. Vince gives a gentle tug, testing the strength of his grip; Howard tightens his hold enough to reassure him that he is in fact a much larger man capable of preventing him from going any further.

It’s not even like he believes he can keep this from him forever, that is a rather unrealistic expectation. But if he can help it, he can continue to keep it from him  _ for now. _

He compromises the only way he knows will get Vince to drop it. “After we’ve eaten.” 

The tension drops from Vince’s frame in one swift movement. “You’ll show me the book?” 

A nod of the head, that’s all it takes, and the crisis is avoided. It’s a small divergence, and it will only last as long as it takes Howard to finish making their meal and then for them to eat it - but he can burn that bridge when he gets to it. He’ll think of another excuse when he gets there. 

“Okay.” Vince agrees, Howard releases his wrist. He re-situates himself on the counter beside him once more, settling into the place he’s always belonged - by Howard’s side. 

“Do you ever wear clothes?” 

***

Eating with Howard might be one of his new favourite things to do. 

Not only is the faun quite a good cook, but their conversation as they eat is as entertaining as it is educational for him. It turns out that Howard does in fact own clothes (jumpers and scarves to warm himself up should the weather turn - and yes those just appeared here too) though rarely finds himself wearing them thanks to his entire lower half being covered in fur and therefore doing a wonderful job of keeping his temperature raised. 

“It’s also never winter here.” 

Vince has to give himself a second to process that information, long enough to hastily swallow down the food he’s munching on. “You what?” 

“I’ve never seen a winter, at least.” Howard is shrugging him off much too casually for how  _ genius  _ what he’s suggesting is. No doubt so used to this fact it no longer strikes him as extraordinary. “There’s year round sunshine.” 

“That’s amazing.” 

Howard gives him a scolding look, like he is missing a vital part of the equation. “You’d think, but when you have to live it, it’s not as fun.” 

Frankly he finds this very hard to believe. Vince loves the sunshine, it’s easily his favourite weather type. “Of course  _ you’d  _ say that. You’re like the antithesis of fun, you are.” Howard doesn’t verbally argue with him, but his entire expression pinches into outrage enough that Vince begins snickering into his fist. “I’m just saying! Your idea of a good night probably involves a book you barely understand, one of your moony jazz records and bed by nine o’clock.” 

As expected, this described situation is very much up Howard’s alley, he concedes the point with a nod. “And what do you do then? Get high on sugar and go to a rave with a bunch of gazelles? Get off with a cheetah, lick a tree frog and stagger home at sunrise?” 

The whole conversation is absurd, and yet, not that far away from some nights he’d spent in the jungle at all. Granted it was water buffalo that took him partying, and no matter what that anteater said he had  _ no _ t flirted with her. Still, the familiarity of it all leaves him smirking as he charitably stands and begins clearing their dishes away. 

The faun watches him (as much as he tries to pretend he isn’t) with an air of warm affection. 

Dishes stacked, water refreshed, Vince returns to the table with yet more conversation starters tucked up his sleeve. To Howard’s credit, he seems to find no topic Vince broaches too ridiculous. In true absurdist fashion, he prefers answering the crazy questions Vince comes up with to the serious ones he tries to slip past him. 

Musings like  _ “Have you ever thought about shaving yourself?”  _ are received with baffled expression and mirth filled replies, while the somber question of  _ “What do you miss most about the outside?”  _ is followed by contemplative silence and then a small, shy answer. 

Howard has adapted to Vince’s curious nature remarkably, and now seems to realise how futile not answering him is. 

Given that he can chat for England, Vince always gets what he wants from an interaction even if he has to be clever about it. There is, of course, still the issue that Howard might be a fraction smarter than Vince, and on one or two occasions during their after dinner conversations manages to demonstrate this perfectly by talking around his musings in a way that takes Vince a moment to click on he  _ hasn’t actually answered the question.  _

It appears Vince isn’t the only one learning, Howard is getting pretty damn talented at knowing how to get the younger man to talk himself in circles (gently nudging topics and prompting certain lines of thought) so that he eventually loses the original point. 

Which should perhaps worry Vince a little bit, to be known this well after such a short space of time, but it doesn’t. He thinks it’s nice. 

In case you were wondering, though, no Howard has ever thought about shaving himself, and what he misses most from the outside world was the music. The soppy bastard. 

It’s really no surprise to him that they pass hours in this comfortable existence with one another and Howard shows no sign of fulfilling his end of the bargain. They move around each other like lifetime partners rather than relative strangers. 

When Howard tosses him a tea towel and insists he helps with the washing, Vince pouts to an impressive level and tries to bargain his way out of it by promising to be the one to clear up tomorrow. Already the goat man knows him well enough to call him out on his utter lies and in the end, Vince dries their dishes. 

Neither of them mention the elephants (plural) in the room. Like how long Vince intends to make himself at home in Howard’s place. Nor the book of prophecies. Nor what they’re going to do about this ‘evil’ and Howard’s inability to leave. 

For a while, they’re just friends mucking about while they clear up. Vince swats at furry legs with his towel and Howard in turn flicks water at him when he makes an unsavoury comment. 

It’s homely. 

And Vince has a plan to get his hands on that book whether Howard willingly shows it to him or not. 

The sun starts to set, they’ve found themselves in a pocket of comfortable silence where they have settled companionably in Howard’s cabin living room - the faun propped in an armchair with a book open in his lap and Vince sprawled in front of the lit fire with his chin in his hand and flicking through one of the magazine’s he’d brought. 

And when Howard yawns into his fist it’s the perfect opportunity to enact his plan. 

“You should take the bed tonight.” Vince says, pushes himself up from his stomach onto his knees. “I’ll sleep out here.” 

Howard eyes him warily. Almost certainly knows he is up to something, but he seems to come to the conclusion that allowing it to happen is easier than fighting it. 

“You sure?” He asks, the book in his lap is flipped shut. 

Vince gives what he hopes is an aloof shrug. “Sure, I’m the one who’s gone and invited myself in and everythin’. Plus I’m still not sure your rams legs are gonna be that comfortable on the sofa.” 

Howard finds it in his tiredness to shoot him a reprimanding look; eventually overruled by an amused smile. “My legs are fine. But my back is suffering.” 

It made sense, Howard (even with human legs) would have to be a good few inches taller than Vince was. He’d struggle to fit himself on the compact space of the furniture, while Vince would probably fit quite nicely. 

“Have the bed.” Vince insists again. “Tomorrow we can go for a walk, I want to see some more of the forest.”

Howard seems just as excited by this idea. Surely there is much more to see than the cottage and the river. He agrees easily and presses to his feet. He utters a soft, “Goodnight, Vince.” And then hooves clip-clop their way down the hallway until the click of the bedroom door is heard. 

Vince waits. It must be at least half an hour he spends, poised and still in the centre of the quiet cabin; he wanted to be entirely certain there is no way that Howard is going to reappear to check on him. 

Then he makes for the bookshelves. 

At home, Bryan has a bookshelf in the living room of their cottage too. But it is nowhere near as vast as Howard’s. He wonders if the titles were like the food in his kitchen, once read replaced with something new. Or if perhaps he has spent all his time here trying to make his way through the large collection of novels. Because there’s  _ a lot _ of them. Some Vince recognises as ones his pseudo father owns and others he has never seen the look of before. 

Not that Vince reads, if it didn’t have pictures or information about the latest fashion statements then the chances were Vince hadn’t looked twice at it. 

He has no idea how he’s supposed to start finding the particular book he was looking for when the shelves of reading material went from floor to ceiling and wall to wall in equal measure. All types of spines stare back out at him, leather bound, paperbacks, hardbacks. Colours and words blending into an intimidating mass. 

Suppose he has the whole night, presuming Howard was a heavy sleeper. 

Vince takes a step back, bites at his thumb nail as he considers what he sees. Spending overmuch time  _ thinking _ about things was not usually his style, but in this case, just pulling books off the shelves willy-nilly was likely to be more time consuming than helpful. 

If he were a book of prophecies what would he look like? 

Old, probably. He closes his eyes and pictures a big, dusty old book. Bound in leather. The parchment of the pages inside discoloured and withered from years of use. If he believes Howard that fairies used to make a home in this forest then perhaps it was their book in the first place - maybe covered in a language he can’t read, then? 

It narrows down his search for sure, but he still finds three or four of the books he reaches for match this internal description and still are not what he’s in search of. 

Not that he’s deterred at all. Spends almost an hour reaching for various covers and stacking his failed attempts on the floor to be replaced later. 

He’s built a makeshift ladder to one of the higher shelves using stools and chairs - kicked his boots off so the heels didn’t make him wobble more than the structure already did - when he feels it. 

A jolt of static in his fingertips. The hum of a broken melody crackling inside his head. 

Palm splayed, he lets it dance over the shelf like a dowsing rod; the crackle leaves and then appears again. Guiding him. Hum becomes an intense sound, Howard’s singing voice echoes in his soul. 

_ What can it mean? _ _   
_ _ Was it just a dream? _

He closes his fingers around a rather unassuming little thing, barely bigger than an A5 notebook and slides it free from the shelf. 

Sudden silence. 

Flipping the cover reveals ancient looking pages, discoloured with time, looping inky script, and most importantly; a small crude illustration of a man with goat's legs and his glowing, ladylike looking friend. 

Vince settles down with the book, butterflies in his stomach, and begins to read. 

***

Howard is fully aware Vince is probably searching for the prophecy book as he lays there. 

Mostly because the boy is nowhere near as subtle as he likes to think he is, nor as quiet. The sound of his furniture scraping across a wood floor almost certainly means Vince is trying to reach the higher shelves of his bookcase and using a chair to do it. 

Rightly, he should go out and stop him. But he’s of two minds about the whole thing. 

On the one hand, there is always the chance Vince won’t find it. After all, he can’t be sure what he’s looking for, and no matter how often Howard used to get it out and skim through it, just to remind himself what was coming, he would often still be surprised how inconsequential the thing looked. Which means, he may have nothing at all to worry about. 

Vince would spend a few hours searching, inevitably give up, and Howard could once more dictate how quickly all of his secrets were spilled to the world. 

On the other hand, he hopes by some dumb luck he does find it. Because then maybe Howard will be saved from the embarrassment of having to explain it himself. Of having to watch the trust drain from his friend’s face and see him leave. Rush back to the regular world in fear. 

There was, of course, always the chance he was going to get woken in the middle of the night by Vince storming into his bedroom and demanding answers. 

But he doesn’t. 

When the sun peeks through his window and the birds outside begin their morning calls, he finds he must have fallen asleep waiting for the outraged teen to come charging into his room and give him a piece of his mind. 

Naturally he assumes this means Vince did not find the book. 

_ Or he did.  _ His pessimistic and cruel brain hisses at him.  _ And he’s already left. _

It’s this thought that drives him to take his time getting ready to face the world that morning, too terrified of what he’s going to find when he ventures out into the home at large. 

A comb is pulled through his hair (always awkward because of the insufferable fact he has curled horns poking out of his head) and with deft fingers he flattens the parts of his fur that stick out at awkward angles from his sleep. His bed is made, his curtains opened and the window put on the latch to let the air in. 

On his way to the bathroom he pointedly does not let his eyes glance down the hall to the living room. His ears  _ do not  _ prick up, listening for the sound of someone else in the house. 

Teeth are brushed. Water splashed over his features. Moustache groomed. There’s a moment where he considers showering (yes, he even has a shower fitted, and no he’s never let himself wonder  _ what  _ mains it’s connected to to function) but his legs take a rather unreasonable amount of time to dry afterwards and so a quick rinse by the sink is what he allows himself. 

By the time he gathers the courage to investigate the rest of the house he feels a little bit less likely to be  _ completely _ devastated should Vince have upped sticks. 

It is, in his mind, an utter miracle that when he shuffles into the house at large he finds Vince asleep at the table. Back arched and his forehead propped on his folded arms - a collection of books around him. 

He is literally face first in the open prophecy book.

You’d think his first reaction would be the fear of discovery that comes with Vince having successfully found the book - but no. What he feels first is the overwhelming rush of relief that he’s  _ still here _ . 

It drains him of any other negative emotion, which is new, Howard was used to existing in almost constant angst. 

“Vince?” Howard creeps over to the table and gives the boy’s shoulder a gentle shake. The way he wakes up is slow and sweet. 

Blue eyes blink open and in a slow drag before focusing on Howard; the rest of his features spread into a sleep-soft smile. “Mornin’.” He hums pleasantly, he lifts his head, blinks at his surroundings. “Ugh, my back is killin’ me.” 

“Go to the bed.” Howard suggests, dutifully starts to gather the books from around him. “It’s early, you can still sleep a bit.” 

“Hmm, I think I will.” 

Before he can reach for the prophecy book, find out what page Vince had gotten to and plot how best to enact damage control, Vince snatches it from the table and cradles it to his chest. “Cheers, Howard.” He says with a smile, and then sleepily ambles his way off to the bedroom. 

The fact he said absolutely nothing means Howard spends the rest of his morning trying to distract himself from what the boy might know.

Perhaps a shower was a good idea after all. 

***

Vince has no intention of continuing to read when he shuts himself in the bedroom. He just didn’t want Howard to take the book from him, and subsequently re-hide it.

Because he hadn’t made it as far into it as he’d have liked; found himself dropping off before he had a chance to get to any of the juicy bits about himself or Howard. This was a little to do with the mental strain reading had taken on him, whoever’s job it was to write prophecies needed to learn to use smaller words, and coupled with the excitement of his day - he never really stood a chance. 

What he had achieved was a history lesson in the forest. Which while fascinating, was not what he intended to learn. Though, it comes with a better understanding of his supposed heritage. 

Howard had indeed been correct in his summation that this is where Vince was from, because Vince... Vince was  _ descended from Fairies _ . 

As the story goes; this whole place, red grass and lilac rivers and fantastically coloured creatures included, had been wished into creation by a rebellious fairy as a place to hide away with her human lover. The union, obviously, being against the wishes of her parents and therefore good cause for them to seclude themselves from her magical kind. 

A forest within a forest, so no one would bother them. 

They were happy here for some time. Centuries, even. Magic keeping them youthful and free in their own secret place. 

It was not explicitly stated in the text but Vince _ had _ wondered why there was a cabin here ready for Howard to inhabit and he likes to believe it was theirs. It would certainly explain the strange quirk it had of magicking up food for him. 

This had been the home of two star crossed young lovers; their sanctuary. 

Until, from what he understands of this tale, a baby was born. Crystal blue eyes, and a smile that could solve the world's problems. Imbued with power and glowing like they had been kissed by sunshine itself. And here’s where things get a bit fuzzy in the writings, because in one paragraph it’s theorised the child was so powerful it drew the attention of something wicked - yet three sentences later it is claimed the mother’s vengeful father placed a curse on her before she ran away with her human lover. 

Either way. Something bad finds its way into their world. Hungry for the first born of a banished fairy and uncaring of the destruction it wrought in order to get it. 

In an act of desperation, the baby was taken across the border to the human world and entrusted to a carer in the hopes they would never return to this place - with whatever magic she had left in her body the mother did her best to trap the evil inside a prison of enchantments. What was once their home became a trap. 

Vince knows he was that baby. It fits. 

All things considered, it was an incredible comfort to know that Vince had not been abandoned in the forest with Bryan for any other reason than love. The whole process, this world and its secrets, Bryan’s lying by omission. All his animal caretakers and their horror stories - it had all been to keep him safe. 

But on the other side of the coin lay the inherently saddening thought that his real parent perished here, trying to protect him. 

It was a lot to come to terms with overnight. 

Howard had not been over exaggerating when he declared this evil thing wanted him. For whatever reason, it was why it had shown up in the first place and ruined his young life, and it had spent all this time waiting for him to stumble back across the border. 

It was out there, somewhere, hungry for him. 

He hadn’t even begun to figure out where Howard fits into this tale; so wrapped up as he’d been shedding silent tears over his lost family. 

And reading it now, after being woken from a fleeting and unrestful sleep, didn’t sound too appealing either. Instead, he’s quite happy to kick off most of his clothes and settle into the still warm bed Howard had left behind. He tucks the book under the pillow and rests his head on top of it. 

The rest of the story could be read in a few hours, with Howard close by. 

Because he simply wasn’t strong enough to read it by himself, he didn’t think. 

***

Waiting for Vince to emerge from his sleep finds Howard running out of things to distract himself with. 

Initially he tries his best to carry on as he normally would, before Vince crashed into his life in spectacular fashion. This means he drinks tea and makes an attempt at writing in his journals, but it soon becomes obvious that nothing but nonsense is coming out of him, so he gives up. Following that he tries to read another chapter of  _ A Trumpet Full of Memories;  _ his jazz detective novel, but it’s a struggle to take in any words over the loud bubbling of his own panic. 

In the end his earlier decision of skipping a shower is reversed, given that he will likely have the time to dry off as his new friends sleep half the day away. Not only is his hair treated to a wash but so are his legs. Many may laugh, but Howard happens to think shampooing your legs is a necessary evil if it leaves them as soft as his are. 

By eleven he has made himself comfortable on his porch, door wide open to listen for Vince’s awakening, with the hope that sitting in direct sunlight will help him to dry off faster. 

Vince appears soon after. Shirtless, barefoot, and most likely still half-asleep, he makes a quick journey to where his duffel bag rests innocently by the sofa and digs out a fresh shirt to tug over his head. Howard politely averts his gaze, not wanting to make his position any more questionable in this equation. 

It isn’t until the small body makes itself comfortable beside him, bum hitting the wood porch and knees tucking to his chest. That he finds it in himself to glance over once more. “Sleep well?” He asks. 

“Hm.” Vince is  _ definitely  _ not awake yet, any words he speaks are half grunted and soft around the edges. One hand is rubbing at his eyes as if trying to force himself into wakefulness. “Had another one of them nightmares. It’s the evil isn’t it?” 

Howard averts his gaze one more, choosing instead to watch the sun play over the grass. “‘Fraid so, little man.” 

“You know what’s weird?” Vince asks, and Howard honestly thinks it could be so many things that he doesn’t try to answer. “Why doesn’t it have a name? Even in the book it’s just called ‘evil.” 

Really, he isn’t sure what made him think Vince would avoid the topic. Up to now not a single thing has made the boy shy away from conversation, he was too intrinsically curious about the world around him. Still, hearing it mentioned so casually does throw him through a loop a little. He’s left gaping around his responses, Vince watching on with a shy smile and encouraging gaze. 

“I don’t know.” He says honestly, shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe it did have a name once over but they weren’t really thinking about proper titles when they were writing warnings for us.” 

“Fair.” 

“Breakfast?” Howard offers before Vince can find the energy to ask him any more questions. If anything he’s simply hoping that if he keeps taking care of him then perhaps he will win enough good favour for later. 

They both go inside when he agrees eagerly, Howard fetches some eggs and sets about toasting bread. Vince’s tired eyes are no less perceptive, and as he settles in to watch Howard cook he squints at him curiously. “Is your fur wet?” 

“I had a shower.” 

This fact seems to be the single best thing Vince has ever heard. His face splits in a grin. “I did wonder why you had a shower in there. Thought you might clean yourself like a cat or something.” 

That comment is enough to cause his features to wrinkle in obvious distaste. “That’s disgusting.” 

“Well I don’t know how you work!” 

“Vince,” Howard addresses him seriously, he stops everything he’s doing in order to face the man and maintain a rather stern gaze. “For future reference, I work  _ exactly  _ like you do. Just more hair.” 

“Noted.” 

***

True to his word, once Vince is finished his breakfast, Howard takes him walking in the forest. 

Vince is not at all surprised that the book doesn’t get mentioned again. Howard continues to shoot him shifty little glances, his anxious eyes giving away just how worried he is for something - something Vince mustn’t have gotten to in their tale yet. But, he won’t say anything. 

Mentioning the evil that morning had been like dipping your toe into the water to test out the temperature for Vince. A way of gauging Howard’s reaction to a topic he has so far adamantly avoided. As suspected, it became fairly obvious that Howard, while unwilling to start the conversations himself, was not completely adverse to answering questions so long as Vince was willing to accept there was a chance he might dance around it before being truthful. 

Howard puts on airs of grandeur when in reality? He’s terrified. Of the evil. Of the prophecy. Of How Vince will react to it all. It’s as obvious as a neon sign in the dark to him. 

And Vince is so curious that he is  _ of course  _ going to bring up everything he learnt the previous night; but he is also growing to be rather fond of Howard and wants to ensure he’s as comfortable as possible when that conversation happens. 

So he waits. 

Before they’d left for their walk that morning, Howard had insisted on packing them a lunch. After only knowing Vince for two days he was already growing rather concerned about how little he seemed to consume, and muttered things like  _ “It’s a wonder you’ve lived this long eating how you do.”  _ as he prepared sandwiches and stacked packets of biscuits and fruit into the sachet they were taking with them. 

Vince contributed with entertainment options should they want to stop for a while; Howard’s book is slipped into the bag along with Vince’s portable CD player… and when Howard isn’t looking, the book of prophecies joins them too. 

They had left the cabin just after noon and up to now had been partaking in some rather pleasant but completely aimless wandering. 

For a stretch they follow the river. Vince picks interesting looking flowers and slips them into the pocket of the satchel, insistent he will find a way to preserve them when he gets home. Howard gives him little facts and anecdotes as they walk; points out trees and teaches Vince things he has learnt from books in the cabin. 

Vince pretends these little lectures are dull, but in reality he is hanging off every word. 

Eventually they reach a fork in the road, a little dirt path they had been following splits in two directions. One towards what looks like open fields and the other climbs up the side of a grassy hill and eventually peaks in some rocky outcrops. It isn’t big enough to be considered a mountain, he doesn’t think, but it is a steep incline and looks rather impressive from where they linger at the base. 

“Whats up there?” He asks, curious nature ever present. It looks like the kind of thing that would be harbouring another cool secret from him. But when he turns his head he finds Howard is reluctant to step any closer than where he hovers a good few feet back from Vince. 

“Nothing, really.” He says, and the attempt at a casual dismissal fails miserably. Vince is certain up the rocky structure of the cliff there is something to be found. But before he gets the chance to insist they venture up there, Howard is walking off in the opposite direction. “Come on, there’s somewhere I want to show you.”

Intrigued, Vince follows. 

What Howard leads him to is an expansive field. It’s similar in many ways to the open space of flat land where Howard’s cabin resides; but where that space magically remains trimmed and cared for, this space has been left to its own natural devices. 

It’s overgrown without looking unruly. Large stems of red grass sway and curl in the gentle breeze. There are bright yellow daisies and flowers that Vince thinks look a lot like poppies but are in an imaginative range of blue shades. Daffodil lookalikes stand at almost four feet tall, their petals a soft pastel green. Bumblebees buzz happily from large flower to large flower and the distant fluttering sound draws his attention to hummingbirds swooping and diving around them. 

“This is beautiful.” He can’t do more than whisper it, like he’s afraid being too loud will shatter the illusion. 

A pleased grin on his face, Howard reaches to take the satchel from where it rested over Vince’s shoulder, reaches out with hesitant fingers and with a palm splayed at his lower back guides him to a spot that is less overgrown than the rest where they can settle comfortably together. “Thought you’d like it here.” 

“For once you thought right.” Vince teases, slides easily to his knees by Howard’s side. 

The look he gets in response is withering, and Howard chooses to focus on digging food from their bag rather than coming up with a witty response. Except, rather than producing a Tupperware of sandwiches, what his fingers close around instead is the little A5 book of their destiny. 

It’s clearly not an intentional action either, because upon recognising what he’s found, Howard’s frame goes from loose and relaxed to tighter than a piano wire. On instinct, like a kid having been caught smuggling sweets into class, he reaches out to snatch it back but for a ram the other man has fast reflexes and stretches his long arm so it’s completely out of Vince’s reach. 

All he can do is wait to see how Howard will handle this. 

“Should I be worried how easily you sneak things like this past me?” 

Amazingly, Howard’s attempt at a joke is, in Vince’s opinion, as close as the man will get to admitting that they don’t have to tiptoe around this topic anymore. Or you know. Don’t have to tiptoe  _ much,  _ it is still Howard, and he is still as awkward as a clown at a funeral. 

“Well you get all stiff and weird about it,” He quips, reaches forward for the book a second time only to have it pulled from him once more. “If you knew I’d brought it you’d pull that annoying face and lecture me about ruining our day or somethin’.” 

“What face?” 

As he talks,  _ the face  _ displays itself with a vengeance. Brows furrowed, nose scrunched, lips puckered like he’s sucking on a lemon. “That face!” He cries, pointing at his suspicious visage with a grin. “Like you reckon everything’s out to get you.” 

“Something usually is.” Now that the face has been brought to his attention, though, he makes an active effort to school his features into something resembling calm. 

While he’s distracted, Vince succeeds in grabbing the book back. “I didn’t bring it just to wind you up, I haven’t finished reading it yet.” 

For some reason, this fact works wonders on Howard’s panicky aura. IT’s suddenly like the world is no longer a threat to him, so much so that he returns to searching for their food in his bag. But, he declines to add anything else to the conversation - again, awkward enough that he was probably unsure about continuing down this route. 

Vince wasn’t about to let the opportunity to talk pass them by, though. “You were right you know, but I guess you knew you were already.” 

A resigned (or potentially relieved) sigh, “Right about what?”

“The fairies.” As he talks Howard holds out a sandwich for him, which he of course takes. “About me being one of them.” The goat man still does not contribute in any meaningful way to their chat, and Vince finds himself snapping at him for his efforts. “You know, you can pretend we’re not having this conversation all you like, I’m going to keep talking at you until you reply.” 

“You’re insufferable.” Howard utters with so much fondness that Vince nearly melts into the grass. “Yes, I knew I was right. I have read the book before, Vince, multiple times over.” 

“So you know how it ends then?” 

Remarkably, the only thing that gives away Howard’s panic at that statement is his wide eyes. The rest of his body remains locked in his earlier manufactured sense of calm. “Yes.” 

“Well don’t ruin it for me, it’s just getting good.” 

Howard laughs; anxiety seeps from the air around them like air from a balloon. He wasn’t so much kidding as he was genuinely warning him though, so when he settles by Howard’s side with the book open in his lap and munching contentedly on his food; the man really shouldn’t look as surprised as he does. 

Ten minutes pass, nothing but Vince trying his best to read but being unable to do so because the wya Howard’s gaze burns into the side of his face feels like it should have an accompanying backing track - something suitably melancholy. 

“What, Howard?” He asks eventually, growing tired of the silent noise. 

To his credit the faun manages to look ashamed of disturbing him. He takes a deep breath or two, Vince can imagine him forcefully gathering all his courage to be able to say what he says next. “Try not to be angry.” 

“What?” 

“When you read the rest of it, try not to be angry with me.” And there is such fear in his eyes that Vince’s automatic reaction is to comfort. He sits forward, mouth open to say that he would never be angry but Howard knows what’s coming. “Don’t say you won’t, because you’d be making a promise you can’t keep just… Just say you’ll try. And remember that I’m sorry.” 

Frankly, there was already so much Vince could read into that statement but he chooses not to. Instead, he’d read the book. “You could just tell me now.” 

“I think it’s better _ not  _ coming from me.” Howard says, and Vince already knows this man is stubborn enough to mean it. 

“Okay.” 

And with that agreed upon, Howard leaves him to it. Vince settles beside his friend, brave enough to plant their shoulders together, and he reads. 

***

It turns out watching Vince read the prophecy book was a terrible idea. He should have taken it off of him when he had the chance.

As he reads he is able to see the reaction play across his face. It takes him a bit of time, mostly his face straining with concentration, lips moving as he sounds out words and no doubt tries to understand them. Every now and then a gasped noise of surprise will come forth, closely followed by a shocked glance or a frown cast in his direction. 

His reading only lasts an hour before he snaps the little book shut and turns to Howard with a heavy frown that does not fit on his pointed face correctly. Really his features are only suited for happiness and the occasional bout of cheek. This apparent frustration was not a good look for him.

The worst part is he doesn’t say a thing. Blue eyes track all over Howard’s seated form, and Howard just lets it happen. He had been crafting a daisy chain while the other filled himself in on their prophecies, hoping that if Vince ended up mad at him he could ply him with the flower crown and maintain their friendship somewhat. 

That plan goes out of the window, he has to set it aside before his anxious twisting hands crush it between his fingers. 

“Vince?” 

The younger man casts his gaze away for just a moment, but it’s long enough to tell Howard he is struggling to find words. Vince never thinks before he talks, he just does. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

It’s a loaded question. Howard doesn’t know how far into the book he got - nor does he know which bit of information he neglected to mention Vince is referencing, because there are plenty of things he didn’t tell him. Which one is he angry about. 

Vince isn’t deterred by his confused silence. 

“It tricked you didn’t it?” He says, and Howard is so overcome with relief it wasn’t the _ ‘we’re destined to fall in love’ _ part of the story that he forgets to be worried about this part. Hearing it from someone else is suddenly so embarrassing he finds his natural instinct is to flee. He shifts like he’s going to get to his feet but Vince’s hand on his arms stops him. “Don’t be runnin’ off, you sly goat man, I have questions.” 

“You always have questions.” 

“Exactly, you should have known this was coming.” 

He is correct on that account, and by all respect he  _ did  _ know this was coming. That does not prevent the shame threatening to swallow him up though, nor does it make any of it easy to share with someone else. Especially when that person is Vince, a man he wants to like him. 

But Vince deserves to know the truth, and no matter how much of a coward he is, that fact won’t change. 

Time to be brave, Moon. “Okay. Go on.” 

Fingers squeeze comfortingly at his arm, Vince peers up at him from under his fringe. “What did you come looking for?” 

Vince was doing an excellent job of encouraging bravery in him, and by that he means simply backing him into a corner and refusing to let him shy away from his truth. He finds himself unable to not answer him, the stifling eye contact. “You’re going to laugh at me.” 

“I laugh at you anyway.” 

Which was more of a comfort than it should have been. 

“I was a musician before I came here,” He starts, seeing the way Vince relaxes beside him as if expecting a story. “Not a good one, either. I could play but I couldn’t get a gig anywhere, I was laughed out of every jazz club in Yorkshire... and there was this woman…” 

Beside him Vince stiffens, Howard isn’t looking at him anymore but he can feel the annoyance rolling off him. It’s a little bit nice for his ego, that Vince without knowing can be so obviously jealous of a woman Howard hasn’t seen in five years. 

“I was young and stupid, and I heard about a place you could go to make bargains.” His shame overcomes him. “I found the forest, back when the borders were open to anyone, and I tracked down something that could help me.” 

“It promised everything. Fame, musical talent, love. I’d finally  _ be  _ someone.” It still feels a bit raw, even five years later, what a failure he’d felt in every sense of the word. Capable of instruments but unable to get gigs. Ignored by the woman he loved. 

Anything the evil could have offered him would have been enough but it had offered him  _ everything _ . 

“You had no idea, Howard, it’s not your fault.” Vince’s ability to be the light in among all of this darkness shouldn’t have been a doubt to Howard, from the moment he’d met him all Vince had ever wanted to do was be near him. To befriend him. To make him laugh. He feels a little stupid to think this sunshine child would ever think badly of him. 

“Well I should have figured it out really.” He sighs, unable to be anything but self-deprecating. He picks at the grass by his hooves. “Anything that can’t leave the cave it lives in and reckons it can still grant wishes is a bit suspicious.” 

“What happened?” 

“It asked if I wanted to be special. I said yes, signed a contract with my blood and I woke up. God knows how long later, in a cabin, a prophecy book on my chest and goats legs.” Vince’s gaze is filled with sympathy, it’s stifling and so he tries to shrug it off. “I suppose in some way, I am special aren’t I? It fulfilled it’s end of the bargain on a technicality.” 

“But you can break it can’t you? Whatever it did to you?” 

Howard nods. It’s right there in the book, but Vince hasn’t gotten to that part yet. The contract would be broken as soon as Howard learns to be loved for who he is, rather than what he’s not. 

“And what about the border, you said you managed to cross it. Why can’t you anymore?” 

Howard carefully pulls the book from Vince’s lap, flips between pages by memory to land on a specific one. “Your mother made sure it couldn’t get out, but she wanted to be ready.” He passes the open book back to Vince. The page displays an ink stained drawing of a woman, colours swirling around her like magic. “In the event someone came along and ruined her initial plan - that’s me by the way - the border sealed shut. Stops it getting to you.” 

He’s holding the book open on the page Howard had given him, reverent fingers drawing over what Howard imagines is the only likeness of his own mother he’s ever seen. It makes guilt clot heavy in his chest, that he ever thought he had it tough when poor Vince - torn from his family and uncertain of who he was - had been through so much more. 

“It was stuck in one place until I turned up,” He explains, as if it were vital for Vince to know how badly he had messed up. “One soul, that’s all it needed to break out of that spell and I gave it what it wanted.” 

“You  _ didn’t know.”  _ Vince says again, and this time with such intense anger that Howard is genuinely afraid of disagreeing with him again. There’s fire in his gaze as he looks up to meet Howard’s eyes. “There was  _ no way _ you could’ve known what you were doing, Howard. It’s not your fault. Stop thinking like that.” 

“Okay,” He agrees easily. Whatever Vince wants, Vince gets as far as he’s concerned. Especially in this matter. 

Vince swallows thickly, takes a moment to draw gentle fingers over the woman on the page and pull himself back from the hot spiking anger he’d lost himself to. “I still don’t understand why it wants me?” 

Howard shrugs at him, manages a small smirk. “Trust me, I have been wondering that since I met you.” 

“Hey!” The joke does break the tension though, Vince snickers and Howard manages a similar chuckle. They take a moment for all that information to sink in, and then Vince leans into his side. “Thank you for telling me.” 

“You wouldn’t have left me alone until I did.” Howard sighs, but it’s a fond thing. 

“This is true.” He snickers. And then, apparently that is about as much serious as Vince can handle in one day because he is moving swiftly on from that topic. “Okay, now I saw you slip biscuits into that bag before we left and I’d quite like the sugar please.” 

Chuckling, Howard can’t find it in himself to say no. 

***

They linger in the field a little bit more. Howard gets through a chapter of his book once he has calmed down enough from the intense chat to actually lay back in the sun and read. 

Meanwhile Vince (wearing the flower crown Howard had made him) runs about and draws various things he finds - flowers, insects, rabbits and mice and hummingbirds - in order to expel all the energy  _ he’d  _ built up while being serious and learning about Howard’s past. 

It’s a companionable afternoon, but all too soon, it’s time to head back to the safety of their cabin. Vince is worried about burning, and Howard _ is _ burning so they gather up their things and begin the slow walk back. 

The journey home takes them past the same fork in the road, as they pass it this time Vince appreciates the rocky outcrop with a new sense of respect. Howard liked to think he was a master at hiding things from him, but Vince begs to differ. He’d said the thing was in a cave, and that where it had previously been trapped in once place, now wasn’t. 

In Vince’s mind, where else would an evil being make it’s home except the top of a mini mountain, inside a damp cave? 

And Howard wouldn’t even look at it as they passed, his eyes avert in barely concealed fear. 

Not that he’d dare admit to this theory out loud; Howard may be opening up to answering all of his questions but he also seems pretty intent on protecting Vince from his own destiny. It matters not that this prophecy book will certainly go on to tell Vince he needs to be the one to retrap the evil being, Howard doesn’t want to entertain the idea. 

“Are you hungry enough for dinner?” Howard asks as they wander up the stretch of grass towards the cabin. 

“Hmm. Maybe not yet.” He says. It was only a few hours ago they’d last eaten and he’d much prefer they find better ways of spending their time than cooking. 

Responsible as ever, Howard’s first task upon returning to the house was to empty their bag. He clears food away and stacks his book back on the shelf for now. And in a demonstration of how he was coming to trust Vince, he offers the prophecy book out to him as soon as he takes it from the satchel, tiny eyes creasing where he smiles. 

Vince accepts it, tucks it under one arm and reaches with gentle fingers to prod at Howard’s side playfully. “Make us a cuppa, yeah? Then come and sit with me for a while.” 

Howard seems shocked at the request, but agrees. A pot of tea brewed later and they find themselves shoulder to shoulder on the plush fabric of the sofa. Vince does not open the book again, but refuses to let it out of his sight until he has finished it. 

Instead of dwindle on that serious subject, he asks, “What you going to do as soon as you’re free from here?” 

“What?” 

“When you’re free,” Vince tucks his legs up beneath him, angles his body towards Howard. “And can go back out into the world and can do anything - what’re you goin’ to do?” 

Howard takes his time to consider this question. Sips at his tea. Vince imagines he’s going to say something quite sentimental; to see his family or potentially to chase down that woman he was enamored enough with to sell his soul. 

“I don’t know,” He sighs eventually. “Your little cottage sounds quite nice.” 

Vince chokes on a sip of tea, unsure whether he was trying to laugh or gasp his shock at Howard’s bluntness. “Are you kidding?” He rasps, snickering. 

Howard smirks at him. “Should I be kidding?” 

“Firstly, Bryan will rip your head off,” Vince says, not lying. If Bryan had been in the know about all of this since he was a child, and tasked with keeping Vince from this place, then Howard represented his failure. “Secondly, you’d have the  _ whole world  _ to go to. Why’d you wanna come back to mine?” 

At this Howard looks bashful, and rather than answer he just looks into his milky brew and pretends he has nothing to say. “You’re right.” He clears his throat. “Suppose my mum might be wondering where I’ve been for five years.” 

“Oh, Howard!” Vince sits forward, mouth dropping open in shock. “What must your family think! God, did you even tell them where you were going? You just dropped off the face of the earth, they probably think you’re dead.” 

“That’s incredibly reassuring, thanks Vince.” 

“No - I mean,” Thankfully Howard doesn’t look annoyed. He’s glowing with mirth. “I just meant, they wouldn’t have a clue would they?” 

Howard shrugs at him. “They likely just think I’m too proud to talk to them anymore. I left home when I was your age and ended up here a few months later. Only really called when I needed to borrow money again.” 

“You… You were only eighteen when you got here?” Howard nods, Vince finds himself reaching for him; his comforting instincts were getting a run for their money today, what with all this information coming to light. “Howard, that’s so young.” 

“Yes, you are a walking demonstration of that, Vince.” The way Howard sighs it is almost  _ sad.  _ But Vince can’t for the life of him understand why Vince’s age is something to be unhappy about. 

He doesn’t even get a chance to ask, because Howard is escaping the conversation by pressing himself to standing. “I think I’m going to make something for dinner anyway, you don’t eat nearly enough proper food.” 

It could not be more obvious that there was a hidden meaning behind the things Howard was saying if he had written the word ‘subtext’ on his forehead. “Alright, Responsible Adams. I didn’t come here to be fed up, you know.” 

“No you're here to get on my nerves and cover my walls in art.” Which serves to remind Vince he has a sketchbook full of art he wants to pin on Howard’s walls. 

“You love it really.” And Vince is so distracted skipping to retrieve his collection of drawings that he doesn’t think too much about the pained expression that crosses Howard’s face at his words. 

“Do you have any push pins, I’m about to bring some colour into your life.” He calls eagerly. 

The fact he stumbles on Howard’s scribbled drawing from the day before, the one he’d hidden from him and promptly forgotten about, takes almost all the wind from his sails. But he manages to pull himself together long enough to grab the pins that are offered to him by his friend and school his face into a mask of childlike glee. 

He tears all his own artworks free from the sketchbook, ready to be hung, but he leaves the warm sketch of himself sleeping - signed  _ H. Moon _ \- exactly where it is. 

***

When Vince insists that Howard take the bed again that night, Howard is less inclined to fight him about it. 

They are both growing in confidence enough about their shared secret destiny, that Howard is unphased by the way Vince reaches for the book, and similarly, Vince does not hide the action either. 

They had spent the entire evening not talking about it, Vince seeming to decide the best way to approach the topic was in small manageable bursts. Howard agreed, and demonstrated this by being open to conversation as much as possible, but indicating with his awkward body language and vague answers when he was getting overwhelmed with their sharing. 

Luckily, Vince didn’t like being serious for too long either. They came to a mutual but silent agreement that serious chats were to take place in small chunks and then padded out with humour. 

Instead, they spent the rest of their day discussing all the instruments Howard could play, and Vince chatted about how he’d always wanted to be a singer like Bryan. He floated the idea of starting a band and Howard (in the nicest way possible) laughed him off. After dinner Vince had once again wriggled out of washing dishes, and uses the shower as an excuse to get out of drying them too - but Howard finds it hard to be mad at him when he is swirling with such hopeless affection. 

He’d emerged with wet hair and a declaration that for a magic shower in the middle of a woods, it boasted some of the best water pressure he’d ever known. 

Their domesticity didn’t end there. Howard notices they’re getting to a level of comfort that most people only achieve after a decent amount of time in one another’s company; they move around each other like a well oiled machine. Howard asks Vince to pass him something and with the enthusiasm of an energetic toddler Vince will comply, mouthing off good naturedly as he does. Vince whines he’s cold and Howard lights a fire. Vince offers tea, Howard agrees and ends up being the one to make it anyway. 

Even as Howard is rinsing his used mug and getting ready to head to bed, the way Vince tugs the throw over himself and curls up on the sofa, book open in his lap, Howard finds his heart clenching painfully at the image of it. 

“Don’t stay up too late, I bet you’re cranky like a toddler when you’re tired.” 

“I am. Tantrums and tears if I don’t sleep proper.” Vince doesn’t even look ashamed of his admission. He looks proud of it. “I’m only gonna read it a bit and then I’ll be droppin’ off, don’t you worry.” 

Somehow, Howard doubts that. He knows which bit is next, and it’s everything to do with their comfortably developing relationship. 

“Goodnight then.” 

“Night Howard.” 

And amazingly- Howard is not as anxious as he had been the night previously, even knowing for certain that Vince is learning things about them both that could potentially be life changing.  _ Will  _ be life changing. 

But, he drifts off with a new confidence that no matter what Vince would still be there in the morning, grinning, calling him an idiot and asking him serious questions with the shielding of banter. Even if those questions were going to be along the lines of _ “So… Are you actually in love with me like it says?”  _

It’s scary, of course it is, but nothing scared him more than the thought of Vince leaving him, and so as long as he was confident in that not being a risk anymore, they would be fine. 

Waking up the next morning finds the sun shining a little brighter, and birds chirping hopeful melodies he hadn’t appreciated enough before. This morning, though, it was music to his ears. His routine passes in a blur, he washes and combs his hair, he feels untouchable. Ready to be grilled, anxious about it, but ready. 

The positivity fizzles out a little when he ventures into the living room and finds the sofa bare, blanket hastily tossed aside. 

“Vince?” 

No reply comes, replacing his previous joy is now the cold drip of dread. His lungs are tightening. His head swims. 

Vince’s bag is gone. So is the prophecy book. 

On the table sits a folded piece of paper that upon closer inspection reveals itself to be his own sketch of Vince, asleep in his lap. 

Scribbled on the back of said drawing, in brightly coloured and messy handwriting, it simply says  _ ‘I’m Sorry.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One part left! 
> 
> (and then maybe an epilogue, I think... potentially)


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't defeating the bad guy supposed to be the hard part of any given fairy tale? So why did it feel like everything else was vastly more daunting. In which endings are had, some of which are happy.

Despite being the kind of enchanted wonderland that boasts a year round summer, the night is bitingly cold as Vince escapes into it. 

Had he given himself more time to engineer his exit then he might have had the forethought to steal an extra layer from his sleeping host before venturing out into the unknown in nothing more than a thin t-shirt and his cotton pyjama bottoms. Alas, as he hurries down the dirt path toward the treeline, he hasn’t the desire to go back and rectify this mistake. 

The whole thing had been a bit of a swift and emotion fuelled decision, if he was honest with himself. 

Over his shoulder sat his duffle bag, hastily packed with--he hopes--everything he had brought with him to this place. Clutched to his chest is the book of prophecies that he had now read from cover to cover. 

Barely twelve hours ago Howard had made him promise to try not to be angry, and in Vince’s defence, he had tried. He had really,  _ really  _ tried. 

Initially, it had appeared the easiest task in the world as he finally delved into the part of the tale where he himself entered the picture. It had been a delight to see their first meeting described, albeit vaguely, in curved scripture and mystic watercolour illustrations. A lot of the finer details were missing; for example their mild disagreement over manners. Nowhere in the text did it say Howard was to call him a tit, but the beat points of the interaction were all hit-- namely his affinity for animals and Howard spooking him with his sudden appearance. 

Having now finished the prophecy completely, a lot of that initial interaction had begun to make sense to him. Specifically, Howard’s first few moments of utter confusion over his arrival. Apparently ambiguity was the author’s bread and butter, and they had failed to specify a gender for the Fae child in any explicit terms. 

Knowing Howard, he would have read the descriptors used--  _ ‘pretty’ _ , ‘ _ beautiful _ ’, and ‘ _ ethereal _ ’ to name a few-- and naturally assumed the youngling to fall into his forest was going to be a lady. 

Vince was more flattered by the written praise than anything else. 

Besides, one could look at it as an oversight on the penman’s behalf, or you could look at it as a nod of respect to Vince himself, who had grown up rather unfond of labels. He preferred self made titles; The Confuser. Fashionably Andrgynous. Is it a man, is it a woman? It’s simply Vince. 

Going on to read about the instant snap of connection they had shared had not surprised him as much as it probably  _ should _ have. Descriptions of the faun’s affection for him being instantaneous, intense and overcoming as it grew-- none of that had him batting an eye. Realistically when he had sat down to read this was the kind of thing he had expected to find, given that Bryan had been very fond of fairytales as bedtime stories in his youth. They almost always came with a romantic subplot, why would his own fate be any different?

Apparently it was completely expected for Howard to support him through-- again, rather vague-- challenges and personal realisations that would shake him to his core. Vince took this to mean that no matter how Howard had professed it not his place to break the news about his heritage, it was a role intended for him from the beginning. Perhaps for very good reasons. 

Vince certainly  _ would  _ have preferred to have heard the rest of this tale from Howard himself instead of being forced to learn about it alone in the middle of the night. No one to ask questions and emotion threatening to overwhelm him without a gentle pair of hands and warm eyes to ground him. 

Because it did sting; the intrusive idea he had suddenly formed that the only reason Howard had been treating him the way he had-- with such kindness and overt appreciation-- was because he was  _ expected to.  _

Vince was not blind. 

Nor stupid-- at least not  _ that  _ stupid. 

Howard tried with all his might to be subtle but some parts of his anatomy were not on his side when it came to hiding his feelings. The most obvious being his adorable little tail. Howard could paint himself fifty shades of stoic but he could not control how it thrashed about; like all the joy he was forcing down had to go somewhere and it all got piled into the one place that had the range of movement to completely rat him out. 

And  _ his eyes _ . A little on the small side but intense. Vince had heard people say that eyes were the window to the soul and up until meeting Howard he hadn’t known what they meant. Everything Howard was could be found in those chocolate peepers. They told the story of his character with how they flitted about anxiously; how they burned in annoyance or glistened with adoration. When he laughed they crinkled at the edges and squinted so small that they almost disappeared and to Vince it was like watching the sunrise. Awe inspiring. Inherently moving. 

No matter how Howard felt they were always so  _ warm  _ when they lingered on Vince. Usually peeking at him from beneath furrowed brows and still screaming out how much he craved the company of the fae child. 

So yes, he had perhaps had an inkling that their tale was destined to head down this path. 

None of that was what had frightened him. He’d kept his cool throughout every page of that discovery like a real mature adult. 

It was the following revelations that had begun to melt away his calm demeanour. The part where it had gone on to express in many inexact ways that the responsibility of breaking Howard’s curse was at least fifty percent Vince’s.  _ On top  _ of dealing with this so-called evil that resided in this world. 

Not that the book was in any way helpful in telling how to do either of these things. It was ambiguous and cryptic, like whoever wrote it-- which when you consider the facts was probably one of Vince’s own family members--  _ wanted  _ the readers to interpret their destinies their own way. 

What Vince has landed on was that Howard’s curse was rooted in his inability to love himself; that’s why the thing had been able to take advantage of him in the first place. So wrapped up in his failures, Howard had come here to bargain for better qualities than the ones he had already possessed. He’d sold himself short on every conceivable level. 

And Vince was supposed to teach him how to be loved. 

Which, if you ask him, was a damn sight more daunting than having to fight evil. 

Perhaps it was that thought that had motivated him into leaving in the first place. The figurative dam breaking in his brain. Liquid emotion spilling everywhere. Tiny villages of serenity destroyed in the aftermath. There were inner relief workers crying out for aid-- scrambling through the wreckage of his inner peace in the hopes of salvaging any scrap of sunshine and only coming up with more intense  _ feelings.  _

Feelings like anger. Sadness. Betrayal. You know, the real good stuff. 

Every little emotion that he hadn’t wanted to confront at the initial moment of discovering it; so they’d all been packed away for later examination. And now it was going to be impossible to go back to his naive pleasure of before. Like trying to reform a water balloon after it had burst. 

What he was left with was an intoxicating cocktail of fury over this being that lurked at the edges of their contentment with shifting shoulders; ready to pounce at any moment. 

It had ruined his parents' lives, it had ruined Howard’s, and he would not let it continue to ruin his. 

Vince is great at the impulse of a thing. He lives and breathes spontaneity. If he can help it, he doesn’t put a single thought into anything. That’s brain power he can be using on much more important things like designing clothes or plotting his rise to fame. Who needs common sense when you’re this pretty? 

Impulsivity had gotten him as far as stumbling through the dark woods, the beam of a torch he’d stolen from Howard’s cottage the only thing keeping him from tripping over large roots, but it wasn’t going to help him when he reached his final destination. And finding his way to the rocky mountain they had passed from memory alone was proving a little difficult considering when he’d last tread this path he’d been more preoccupied with his dainty flower crown and Howard’s rambling about tree moss. 

Still. He’d committed to the bit now. He couldn’t go back. This was his one great selfless act; look at him go, making rather intense declarations through his actions rather than his words. He hears they speak louder. 

Free Howard by whatever means necessary was the message here. 

Again, hindsight plays havoc with his intentions. Had he been more emotionally stable upon leaving the safety of the cottage then he might have put a bit more explanation in his note rather than a pretty dramatic apology, but he had hoped the leaving behind of the drawing would be enough subtext for Howard to read into. That he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t apologising for leaving-- well he was, a bit-- but for  _ the way  _ he was leaving. 

Howard had been so intent on keeping him from this destiny he was no doubt going to be furious once he realised what was happening. 

Maybe that’s where a vague note would come in handy for him. It was after all the reason he had decided to take his bag with him too; in the hopes that he would put the other man off his scent long enough to get a head start. Howard would be after him like one of those jazz detectives from his bloody book before long. 

No, it was best for him to-- at least for a little while-- think there is something else entirely going on. A heartbroken Howard was much more likely to stay exactly where he was and firmly out of harm's way. 

The sun is peeking over the horizon by the time he reaches the base of the steep trail that disappears up into a rocky outcrop. The one place Howard hadn’t been able to even look at as they passed and thus, in Vince’s humble opinion, exactly the kind of place a malicious being would make itself a home. 

There’s a moment he spends just hovering there. It’s a chance to catch his breath mostly, but more than that, it’s a second to really appreciate the lengths he is going to for the ridiculous ball of fur that is known to him as Howard. The fact that he feels no fear should perhaps concern him. That rather, there is something hot coursing through his veins. The passion he has for this place, for the man he met here, for the life robbed from him as a child, spurring him on like nothing he’s ever known before. 

Well thought out plans were for people with more logic than he possessed. Strategies were for people who had the time to waste plotting an attack. Vince didn’t have time, nor logic, all he had was this turbulent energy low in his gut. 

Confident this is the stupidest thing he has ever done, Vince sets off up the steep trail. 

***

It takes a second for Howard to function again after discovering the little folded note. 

The world around him feels like it’s paused in pity. Not that Howard has enough sense of being to understand that there  _ is _ still a world beyond the narrowing of his perception to the sketch in his hands. For all he knows, everything ceased existing the second Vince stepped out of the door. Certainly feels that way, what with how hollow he feels. Head swimming, chest tight, it’s like he’s gone into some sort of shock response. 

The thought briefly crosses his mind that he should sit down but past the continuous motion of flipping the paper over and over again-- searching for some hidden meaning or explanation hiding among the ink strokes-- there’s not a thing he can do. 

Distantly, his inner voice hisses it’s reminders that he really has no right to be this upset. 

From the second Vince stumbled into his world there had always been a risk of losing him. Multiple, rather big, risks. Ranging from Howard’s sheer ineptitude with people, to the prophecy, to the creature that threatened their existence. Any one of them could have forced Vince away at any point and he had known this. 

Vince tucking all his emotions into a box and pretending they didn’t exist had been a recipe for disaster. A tactic that worked brilliantly right up until the moment he ran out of room; at which point a confused and overwhelmed boy had done the only thing he knew how to do to cope--he’d run. 

Understandable. Predictable. Howard had seen it coming a mile off. 

Still utterly devastating, though. 

Part of the reason he had tried so hard to regulate his endearment to Vince was so this kind of rejection wouldn’t sting quite so badly, and yet, with his 20/20 hindsight it’s obvious whatever control Howard thought he had was nothing more than a sham. 

That ditsy, naive, joy-filled Fae child had been the single greatest thing to ever trip into Howard’s life. With his boisterous laughter and endless supply of optimism-- enough to siphon some off to Howard whenever he needed it. His wide inquisitive eyes, almost unnaturally blue and always alert. Vince felt like magic to be in a room with, and it wasn’t just because he  _ was  _ technically magic. He just had an aura about him. Everything was spectacular to him, from the actually fantastical to the downright mundane. Every day was a jamboree for Vince Noir and it was intoxicating. 

And like a child playing dress up, Howard had smothered himself in false layers of stoicism and restraint, and pretended that he was fighting his infatuation into submission. When underneath it all he was a helpless and vulnerable man, madly in love with Vince. 

He would mourn the loss of him for the rest of his days, no doubt. 

Not the promise of a broken curse nor a ticket out of his picturesque prison. Him. The actual physical embodiment of Vince. He’d have spent the rest of his natural born life stuck here and half a goat if it meant Vince was by his side-- 

That train of thought is promptly halted in its tracks lest it drive Howard to do something regrettable; like chase Vince down and beg him to stay. Not that he stood a chance; not only were his negotiation skills up in the air but there was no way of knowing how long ago Vince had left. Chances were he was over the border and weeping into the shoulder of his caretaker by now. 

The only way he can stop thoughts being thought, however, is to act. 

Which is what leads him to start taking down the various pieces of art Vince had pinned to his walls the night previous. Colourful renditions of his own form hanging above the fireplace, a rainbow caricature of a rabbit by the window, an uncharacteristically realistic watercolour of the landscape by the river. They’re removed with care, one by one, and stacked on his writing desk. 

He won’t throw them away, but leaving them up as a visual reminder of what could have been seems a bit too much for Howard’s beaten heart to take. 

The sun crests over distant hills as he untacks the very last painting-- a sketch of a field mouse in gold boots and a cowboy hat-- when the path of sunlight draws his notice to something half-hidden beneath his sofa. Whatever it is snatches particles of light from the air and reflects them back; glinting shamelessly at him for his attention. 

Crouching, careful fingers reach down to retrieve the culprit and bring it out into the open. 

A necklace. 

A silver chain with a blue pendant. Probably Vince's. Definitely Vince's. Inconsequential in appearance but significant in meaning. The reflective surface of the chain continues to sparkle at him with it’s exposure to light; flashing like morse code-- informing him he’s been a complete and utter  _ fool.  _

The likelihood of Vince forgetting an accessory-- especially if he had in fact gone home with no intention of ever returning-- was nonexistent. The boy would sooner forget a limb than a pretty necklace and the entire cabin would have been searched top to bottom to ensure everything of importance was collected before his departure, regardless of his emotional state. 

_ Vince does not abandon fashionable items.  _

Which means home is not where he has gone. 

It means his intention wasn’t to  _ stay gone.  _

The fae child was optimistically assuming his departure was a temporary measure-- one that Howard was best off not being in the know about-- which only lends itself to one conclusion. 

“Oh, you  _ daft _ tart,” Howard curses aloud, implications finally settling into solid understanding. 

For once in their impossibly short acquaintance, Vince is trying to be clever. For the most part he had succeeded, too. Had he not gotten careless in his packing Howard likely would have remained here unawares of the fae childs fate and broken-hearted. 

Vince was trying to fight battles that did not belong to him  _ completely alone.  _

And had he gotten his way, the only way Howard would have found out about this act of sheer idiocy would be when Vince inevitably lost that fight-- because prophecies were vague but Howard knew subtext like a second language and there was a reason he never wanted Vince to fulfill his destiny. 

He scrambles to his feet in a panicked hurry, rushes to ready himself for his own venture. 

Somewhere down the line he hopes they’ll be able to laugh that the one time Vince chooses to act intelligently-- plotting a distraction for Howard like he did-- was in order to behave in arguably the most  _ moronic _ fashion Howard has ever heard of. 

“What an absolute  _ tit _ !” Howard cries again upon discovering his torch has been pilfered from his drawers. He hopes wherever he is, Vince can somehow  _ sense  _ he is being scolded aloud with as much annoyance as Howard can currently muster under the suffocating weight of his fear. 

It’s sheer madness the things he stuffs into a satchel, like any of them will be able to help against the being he knows Vince has gone after. But feeling like he is somehow in control, like he knows what he’s doing, is as much of a comfort as swearing his tits off to no one in particular. 

A first aid kit, a blanket, the note, and the forgotten necklace all tucked safely in his bag. It’s thrown over his shoulder and he leaves. 

There isn’t the chance for him to decide what he’s going to say or do should he catch up with the boy. Nor what happens if he’s too late. The fact of the matter is he’s much too wrapped up in his own terror-cum-adrenaline to care. 

If it had anything to do with him Vince would at least make it out alive. 

***

The rocky structure isn’t too tall, but the incline is steep. Vince is left wishing he didn’t have such a fancy for heels because the climb is already a bit of a nightmare without adding unfit footwear to the occasion. 

Reaching the top his chest heaves with the exertion of it all; hands clutching at his sides as he pauses long enough to catch his breath and take in the view. It is quite lovely up here, regardless of what may be lurking around the corner waiting to get him. He can see the border, the misty glass like surface showing the other side and how dull it appears. If he turns his head to the right then Howard’s cottage is visible in it’s patch of red field. It’s not as far as he’d like, a journey that could be made quickly for someone who knew his way around this place like the back of his hand, but it’s far enough that he’s confident he’s given himself a head start.

The thought that this thing had potentially been watching them this whole time, tracking them like weak foals and waiting to strike, is incredibly disturbing. Vince feels nausea curl in the pit of his stomach. 

There isn’t much time to dwell on that thought, nor on the view. The sun has been climbing in the sky right alongside him, which means the faun will almost certainly be awake by now. He hasn’t got much time to waste. 

Turning on his heel he finds the trail that led him up here continues on. It directs him past some unnervingly large rock formations and into the gaping mouth of a cave. Vince doesn’t have to take a step to know that that is where he is expected to go to find his devious destiny. 

He can hear it. 

Something thrums in the ground up here. 

And Vince had become accustomed to hearing music since his childhood; like some part of the forest had been trying to talk to him with the chords. Not just to him either, serenading Howard too, by all accounts. From the very beginning guiding them into their expected places with a 4/4 time signature and a hypnotising melody.

Whatever he can hear up here, though, it wasn’t music. It was aural chaos. The soothing tones of Howard’s singing voice replaced instead with a jarring screech. It was like a toddler smashing it’s fists into a piano. A drum kit being kicked over. It’s rough and painful on the inside of his head, making him wince with each step he takes. 

Irrationally, he finds himself creeping into the alcove on light tiptoes. Stupid really, because if Vince could feel it’s presence in the form of these disjointed sounds, then it almost certainly would be able to feel him too. 

He wonders what he sounds like. Suitably intimidating, he hopes. 

For a long time it's just silent uncomfortable humid air. Still enough that he starts to think perhaps his assumption was wrong-- Howard had after all indicated that this thing had free movement ever since striking a deal with the faun-- and he was searching in the wrong place for the ending to his story. 

Then he hears it. Whispered on the inside of his skull, a twisted horse voice, an amalgamation of sound that grates on him as it speaks. "I wondered how long before you came here." It says. A chill shudders down his spine. Nausea swims in his stomach. He can hear it but he can't  _ see _ it. "Awfully brave to come alone."

Vince swallows thickly. Bolsters himself up to appear braver than he actually is. "Well it’s me you're after, right? No point lettin' you ruin Howard’s life any more." 

"He asked for it." It hisses. Vince turns on his heel like he might be able to find it in the shadowy depths of the cave by tracking the voice. 

No such luck. It was doing a wonderful job of concealing itself. He jumps to Howard's defence all at once with a snap of, “You're a prick." 

"Brave  _ and _ stupid wandering into my place and insulting me like that."

It wasn’t the first time that sentiment had been expressed to him, either. Vince had often been warned by his animal acquaintances that his naivety would be his downfall one day. His complete inability to understand the seriousness of the situations he found himself in. 

Like this one. 

It had seemed so simple to him when he’d left. Find the evil and fix it. For Howard and whatever potential future they may have, and now, in the mouth of the beast, hearing it snarl into his mind tank. He thinks perhaps he has acted a little hastily. Strutting in here without a plan was stupid even by his standards. 

“Ugh, you think so  _ loudly _ ,” The air grows sticky and humid around him with it’s annoyance. “I’ve been able to hear you since you crossed the border.” 

Vince frowns into the darkness; distantly wonders if that channel works both ways-- his unsettling dreams spring to mind. “Why didn’t you ever come for me?” He asks. “Why just hang out in a cave?” 

“I knew  _ you’d _ come to  _ me _ .” 

Subconsciously, Vince glances down at the prophecy book still clutched in his free hand, the thing cackles cruelly. “Did you think mummy was the only one who knew what was coming?” 

Vince gets the sense it’s trying to get a rise out of him, tone taunting where it echoes around inside his head. Defiantly he takes another step into the cave, beam of his torch darting around trying to track the creature down. In the dark he thinks he sees inky tendrils, the dull red glow of what might be eyes, but they continually evade his sight. 

“Then you know what I’m here for.” He says, all false confidence and put upon ego. 

“In theory… prophecies aren't set in stone you know. They're fluid, dependent on  _ choice. _ ” The way it speaks feels heavy. Every second he spends in this place is an increasing weight on his chest; forcing the energy from him. “You obviously have a bargain to make, don’t you?” 

Vince nods his head into the dark. “I want you to leave Howard alone.” 

“Oh how touching.” It sneers; it feels like pin pricks on his skin. Sharp and uncomfortable. “You’ve only known him two days.” 

“Do you want my soul or not?” Vince demands with more confidence than he currently possesses. “‘Cause I can easily find a way to cram you back into your bastard box if you prefer.” 

This time when the creature hisses it is accompanied by a painfully high pitched squeal in his ear. In his haste to reach up and press his palm to the side of his face, as if contact would alleviate his discomfort, his torch is dropped to the floor.

And in the distortion of light that is left behind, one of the shadows begins to move. Things he had only caught glimpses of previously are now painfully clear in how they present themselves. A silhouette of a man made entirely from a dark smoke-like substance moves towards him; two glowing red orbs serving as eyes move independently of each other-- not held in place by anything other than the abstract existence this creature boasts, they undulate freely in amongst the cloud, and Vince finds it sickening to look at. 

He instinctively takes a step back, stumbles on a loose rock, and just barely manages to hold his balance enough to remain standing. Not that it matters, he has already given away his fear. 

“Hmm, would you?” It purrs at him, continuing creeping towards him slowly. “I don’t think you’d know where to start.” And it’s not wrong there, Vince’s ideas began and ended with him showing up. “Your parents must be turning in their graves to know what a _ disappointment  _ you turned out to be.” 

Trying to not let it get to him and  _ actually  _ accomplishing this were two very different beasts, Vince learns. Because before he can stop himself he is clenching his jaw roughly, teeth grinding together in his frustration; his nails bite into his palm. 

It makes another pleased sound; a groan rooted in pleasure that makes Vince so inherently uncomfortable to be around that he backs himself up another inch or two. 

It does, however, give away that for whatever reason this thing is feeding on his anger, his fear, his discomfort. Every move it makes and word it speaks is designed to draw out the negative emotions in those around it-- poor Howard never would have stood a chance, really. He was already all of those things without trying, a veritable feast for this creature. 

Out of pure spite, Vince forces himself to calm down from his irritation. “What’s your name?” He asks instead, distracting from the conversation enough that he can get a handle on himself. 

The scorch of it’s derisive humour passes over Vince’s skin, but it at least decides to answer him. “That’s a nice set of manners you’ve got there, boy. Your unfortunate friend didn’t bother with pleasantries.” 

“Yeah well, he’s a bit terrible with people.” 

The thing gives it’s wispy head an acknowledging nod. “They used to call me Babu Yagu. Way back when.” 

“You been around long then?” 

“Oh ages,” The thing may be some great power, but like many before him, it becomes quickly engrossed by a good dose of conversation from Vince. “I’ve been wandering this earth since before you can even imagine.” 

Vince clutches the book against his chest harder, breathes a little easier as Babu’s hungry red gaze is redirected away from him and off into the distance. He loses himself to the tale, which is good. The longer Vince can keep him talking the more chance he stands of actually coming up with a plan. 

“I was a well respected being once over, people would come from miles around to get themselves some spells; I could grant anyone their wishes you see, boy.” There’s something wistful about the way he talks, regret at his loss perhaps-- pain over his situation. “I could make a blind man see again. I could make people’s dear old nan’s visit them from beyond the grave. I could make anyone fall in love-- oh business was booming for me back then. I was a god amongst men.” 

“What happened?” 

It’s instantly clear it’s the wrong thing to say, because those harrowing red eyes snap back to Vince’s person. The shadow figure takes another distinct step closer, Vince feels his back hit the cool stone wall of the cave. Fury radiates off the thing in thick waves. 

“What happened?” It hisses. “Your kind happened. Your lot with their attitudes of superiority.” If it had a mouth it would be twisted in a cruel frown, Vince thinks. Currently, all he has to indicate this distaste is the rough voice echoing inside his skull. “They decided my magic wasn’t  _ acceptable _ . Like using my gift to make a pretty penny was some kind of crime. They drove me out of my ol’ home. Sent me wandering, powerless and lonely for generations…. Until--” 

Until Vince was born. Which now, with this information under his belt, he understands why it might have such a desperate hunger for him. After all, Vince represented revenge. A fairy having a child with a human? Surely more abominable to most than selling your magic-- Babu was out to get even, following a destiny of his own design. 

It was all about proving a point. 

The worst part is he begins to feel sorry for him. It’s a weakness of his really, always wanting to see the best in people. Always wanting to help. 

He  _ almost  _ falls for that trap. 

Had Babu not chosen that exact moment to try and satiate it’s hunger and prod Vince back into anger. “Your dear mum destroyed my body and trapped me in this god forsaken hole.” He snaps. “I’ve waited  _ years  _ for you to stumble into these woods, and now you’re finally here I ain’t waiting no more.” 

Vince sees it coming and does his best to dodge out of the way. A smoky hand reaches for him and he ducks, sliding past him and turning to run for the mouth of the cave once more. But, being that he doesn’t have a mortal body slowing him down, Babu moves a lot faster than Vince gave him credit for. 

A dusky hand closes around his wrist and it's so cold it feels like it’s burning him. The air he was going to use to shout is sucked from his lungs in a sharp swoop. The atmosphere around them snaps with static electricity. 

He collapses to his knees. 

***

Something incredible is happening. 

It’s probably exactly the wrong time to be in awe of anything, but forgive him, it’s certainly worthy of appreciation no matter what else might be going on. 

Howard does not get on with the forest, or the wind, or anything that wasn’t Vince to be perfectly honest. But it seemed that, without knowing him very long at all, everything in this forest gets on with Vince. To an almost indescribable level. 

Annoyingly, in the denser parts of the woods-- without a torch and the hour of the day being early enough that sunlight has not yet made itself known properly-- Howard finds it a struggle to orient himself in any reliable capacity. Trees all look the same, roots are tripping him up. He at one point had sworn he’d passed the same rock four times. 

He’d almost given up then, admitted he was perhaps the worst person to act as a rescue mission if he couldn’t even remember the way to the mountain when he panicked. That was the crux of the problem after all; he  _ knew  _ this place well enough to find his way but when his heart thudded so loud it drowned out anything else and his vision tunneled with anxiety--then he became useless. 

Vince was in trouble and he couldn’t order his thoughts enough to help.

And then there’d been a rustling from behind him, and he’d turned in time to see branches extending like pointed fingers. Directing him down a path he’d completely neglected to spot being as it was surrounded by the shadows of the trees. 

He’d muttered a polite thank you and hurried on his way. 

Even now, as he hovers at the base of the trail and he-- as embarrassed as he is to admit it-- hesitates, he feels the chilling sensation of being watched and turns to find a veritable menagerie has gathered on the path behind him. 

Deer with rabbits hovering between their legs and squirrels on their backs. If he wasn’t already doubting that this was a natural occurrence, then the mystic pale-blue glow surrounding them would have given it away. There is more than meets the eye going on here. 

This wasn’t just animals being fond of Vince this was something living in the very essence of this place trying to help. 

Things start to slot into place. Things that now seemed obvious in hindsight. 

A song he’d been hearing since he arrived, that had been calling to Vince throughout his childhood. The forest's obvious disdain for him ever since he had made that stupid deal. The magically refilling food stocks in the cabin and how everything he would need to live a comfortable life was just… there. 

Howard had woken from his encounter with Babu with a prophecy book placed firmly on his chest like a lifeline to hang on to. A peace offering; something to hope for. 

In a move that is as breathtaking as it is deeply unnerving, all the creatures that had been staring at him point their gaze in the direction of the path, and then back at him. Their collective gazes are the epitome of ‘ _ What are you waiting for?’ _

It’s a perfectly reasonable question. 

And it’s not that he isn’t brave, of course he’s brave. He’s a man of action. Vince needs him. But he remembers the last time he’d ventured up there. The distorted shape, the glaring eyes, the hissed voice thick and gravelly hitting him at his very core. 

Okay so he was terrified, and it was just taking a second to wind himself up to do something about it. 

Whatever force that had been watching over them all this time reaches out to him once more; seemingly understanding there’s only one sure fire way to make him force his furry legs into action. He hears a melody in his head,  _ Vince’s  _ voice singing to him like it had in the field days ago. 

_ Oh how I loved you and oh how I needed you.  _

Howard is scrambling up the incline with renewed vigour. 

***

When Vince sinks to his knees, Babu goes with him, refusing to break the contact it’s feeding off of. 

Disturbingly, the abstract essence of a hand ensnaring his wrist is starting to solidify. No longer a smoky tendril but green-tinted skin; real enough that jagged nails bite into Vince’s pulse point and have him gasping in pain. 

The process of becoming whole starts to spread up the abstract arm of the thing; it hisses in pleasure and jarringly, it feels as if the noise was torn directly from Vince’s lungs. 

A second unformed hand rises, cups at Vince’s cheek in a twisted parody of a lover. A newly realised thumb carefully brushes tears from the rise of his cheekbone in a manner that distresses him more than if he had slapped him. A little too soft. A little too intimate. “I have to thank you for coming to me, boy.” It says, the disjointed scratch of a voice finding a home in an actual body. “Real  _ brave  _ of you.” 

“Tell me again.” Vince rasps, sagging further into the body. “Promise me-- Howard--” 

Those glowing red eyes manage to roll in exasperation. “Yes, yes, I swear your boyfriend won’t  _ suffer _ .”

The longer Babu maintains contact, the more human he is beginning to look. It’s body forms first, then it’s chin, closely followed by the rest of its pointy visage. Vince is getting weaker by the second but he has enough sense of mind to know that the face forming is identical to his. Same nose, pouty lips, high cheekbones. The only difference is the emerald skin and the intensely terrifying red eyes. 

It’s maybe a minute, or two, but eventually the process verges on complete. A fully formed terrifying man sits before him, and with much more care than you’d think he would show, begins to lower Vince properly to the floor. 

From where he lays though, he sees the appearance of a familiar silhouette in the mouth of the cave. 

“Howard?” 

The green man whips his fresh head around to see where Vince is looking, snarls his irritation to see that it is indeed the goat-man of the woods darkening his doorway. In doing so he breaks the connection before it completes, Vince manages to gasp some air into his lungs. 

“Vince!” 

Howard starts forward towards him, but if Babu had been nimble before then he is somehow more so with a body to control. Howard’s bravery dissolves faster than a berocca and he stumbles over his own hooves in his haste to back away from the threatening presence of Babu Yagu. 

As the faun’s bare back hits the wall, Vince can tell from where he is sagged that the look of defiance on Howard’s face is all put upon. A man who had gotten so lost in the  _ idea  _ of action he had forgotten how to actually go about executing it. Failed to think what a real threat this creature can be-- which was rich coming from Vince. Witnessing his trembling top lip and squinted eyes makes something ache in the hollow of Vince’s chest but there’s not a lot he can do about it. 

It’s a bit like he’s just been dragged by his hair from the bottom of the ocean. He’s not entirely sure which way is up. The world is distorted around him; vision blurring at the edges. He can hear the weak thud of his own heart and a terrible ringing in his ears. Everything hurts. Yet it’s all numb, as well. 

Whatever Babu did to him, it’s going to take a second for Vince to gather himself enough to help his flailing faun friend. 

“Was wonderin’ how long it would take you to scuttle up here.” The green man grunts. Where it’s voice had previously echoed inside Vince’s head, disembodied and gravelly, it is now coming confidently from a mouthpiece. Not only is it wearing a green stained version of his face, but the edge to it’s accent is Vince’s too, in some ways. A little rougher. A heavier cockney twinge, but the base cadence is all his own. “Been a long time since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it, boy?” 

“Yes, sir.” Howard squeaks. 

“Did you think you could come up here and play the hero, son?” Babu taunts, jabs sharp-nailed fingers at Howard’s chest until he flinches. “Strut in to be the knight in shining armour to this here damsel in distress.” 

Howard’s response is lost to his panic, syllables jumbled and incoherent. The green man snaps an order for him to repeat himself and only then does Howard insist, “No, sir.” 

“I think you’re lyin’ to me, squire.” Howard’s eyes widen in response to Babu’s accusation; the faun presses himself further back into the grimy wall. 

“I’m not.” Howard casts a careful look over Babu’s shoulder, locks eyes with Vince in a way that sends warm hope sparking through his limbs. Because surely Howard must know, or at least have an inkling, that the longer the green creature stays on that side of the cave-- his physical connection with Vince severed-- the more strength Vince is gaining back. 

Each look is filled with silent pleas, but Howard doesn’t stop how he offers himself like bait. Every uttered word keeping Babu Yagu’s attention solely on him. 

And Vince is trying his best, but the air around them still feels so suffocating. 

A dull glow blue glow catches his attention from the corner of his gaze. Light spilling from between the shadows and humming to him; at first he thinks he surely must be hallucinating given that neither of the other men in the cave seem to be aware of its presence. But the humming grows louder, the gentle whisper of a voice caresses his ear despite the fact he can’t discern any words. 

He isn’t sure if it’s how weak he is, or just the fact that she is on his mind in the first place. But he sees the faint apparition of a woman. Long dark hair and soft smile, blue eyes. She looks sad but she’s smiling at him, willing him to do something.

In a blink she’s gone; his attention is drawn to the pained yelp Howard gives as a green hand shoves roughly at his chest while it hisses low threats in his face, “You stop squirming boy, or I’ll jab you in your soft belly.” 

Vince’s outrage is enough to force a croaked yell from his throat, “Wait--” 

“I swore your boy wouldn’t suffer.” Babu turns his pointed features enough to sneer at him, smug in its ability to trick people with his clever wording. “Rest assured, I will make sure he is put out of his misery quickly, like.” 

“You can’t--” 

“Do I look like a reasonable man? Or a vengeful nightmare.” 

It cackles cruelly when Howard hopelessly squeaks _ “The first one?” _ and waves one green hand in the air to harness it’s newly acquired power. Just the act makes Vince yelp with the sting it ignites in his chest; Babu drawing energy he hasn’t got left to give from him. A blade forms itself from nothing; catching the low light and glinting menacingly. Howard’s panicked eyes dart to him, a series of unintelligible whimpers falling from his mouth. 

It’s that that forces him into action. 

Getting to his feet is a shambolic process, jelly-like limbs not supporting him properly. To his credit, Babu does not attempt to stop him. Rather he has turned to consider Vince’s process with a twisted smirk. 

“Would you look at that,” The creature grunts. “Made of stronger stuff than I gave you credit for.” 

Vince uses palms against the cool floor to press himself to his knees; maintains defiant eye contact as he leverages himself to his feet. The fact he sways where he stands does rather put a damper on the intensity of the thing, but it’s the effort that counts, he supposes. 

Howard is looking at him with nothing short of admiration, which makes it worth it. 

“And what do you suppose happens now, boy. Seeing that you’re about as intimidating as a seal pup in a tutu?” 

Vince doesn’t deign that jibe with an answer. Instead, he lets his actions do the talking that his jumbled brain can’t manage. Each booted foot is planted wide, his shoulders set. Even with one arm wrapped protectively about his middle, the other hangs loosely by his side and his fist curls in a display of his intentions. 

“Alright. It’s gonna be like that, is it.” Babu snarls. He mimics the posture; holds his arm wide to draw attention to the sharp point of a blade he is still clutching. 

It’s an intimidation tactic but Vince doesn’t let it get to him. There’s no room left to be intimidated, not when he’s bursting at the seams with his anger instead. He harnesses it. Rather than tampering it down, he brandishes it proudly like a weapon. Babu’s eyes widen in surprise. 

It doesn’t register above the sound of Howard’s astonished gasp, though. 

***

Vince may glow when he's happy but it’s nothing in comparison to the fierce nature of him when he’s annoyed. 

The boy’s entire frame is crackling with dangerous electric energy; Howard can feel the rush of static from where he’s hunched behind the form of Babu Yagu, and it’s making  _ him  _ flinch to witness. 

This is another universe to the playful annoyance he had seen from the boy over their short acquaintance. It’s not even the sad kind of anger that had come with unearthing secrets and lies dating back over eighteen years-- no. Whatever this was is something infinitely more feral. It’s untamed and raw and  _ terrifying.  _

Not least because he isn’t entirely sure Vince knows how to control whatever it is he’s channeling. 

Howard might not be an expert in many things but he knew this prophecy better than his own self and he was  _ much  _ better at reading subtext than Vince no doubt was. He knew that Vince tapping into hidden power from his bloodline might feel amazing, that it’s going to trick an inexperienced half-fairy into thinking he’s untouchable, but anger was not where Vince’s strength lay. 

On a cosmic level, Vince was not built for fury. He was a literal manifestation of positivity. The child is a product of unlikely love; of the success of building a safe and comfortable life together. Centuries of happiness were poured into this boy when he was brought into the world and that’s where his real power comes from. 

If he is going to stand a chance he needs to reign himself in. 

“Calm down!” Howard calls, finding his voice among the cat like posturing the good and evil lookalikes were engaging in. His trembling vocal chords only just manage to squeak a warning. “He wants you angry, you need to--” 

Apparently not wanting that bit of information to be public knowledge, Babu Yagu turns, enraged, and with a yell delivers a firm backhand across Howard’s jaw. It takes him by such surprise that he is jolted sideways, crashing to the floor in a hopeless puddle. 

“Howard!” Vince starts forward but is stopped short by the green man blocking his path; features twisted in a snarl. Though his eyes, still glowing red and unnerving, are darting about frantically. As if realising that these two individuals in a room together are a lot less easily defeated than first thought. 

“I’m fine,” Howard rasps; he touches a careful hand to his aching jaw-- finds some courage in himself to finish his thought even while Babu eyes him ferociously. “He can’t touch you when you’re happy.” 

The effect is instantaneous. Vince’s wide blue eyes meet his, something like disbelieving humour spreading on his features. A raised eyebrow that Howard reads as  _ just that easy?  _ And it’s so stupidly casual of him that Howard finds himself snorting hysterical laughter into his fist. The static in the air loses some of its intensity, replaced with the warm trickle of the Vince he has come to know. Soft around the edges, grinning-- a painfully hopeful thing. 

“Are you quite finished?” Babu snaps, the pair of them jolting back to reality at the harsh words. “Only I ‘ave plenty of evil business to be getting up to once I suitably slice the pair of you.” 

With a new found confidence, Howard watches as Vince takes a step towards the green man. Except when he talks, it's the faun he is addressing. “You know what I forgot to put in that note, ‘oward?” The glint of a blade does not deter him, nor does Howard’s stunned lack of an answer. “How brilliant these past few days have been with you. How happy I’ve been. I reckon I didn’t even know who I was until I met you-- you daft old goat man.” 

Howard feels like he’s going to burst; the beat of his heart tripping into double time. He doesn’t want it to stop. 

“You’re incredible,” Howard says, the delivery of which is somewhat ruined by the pitched up notes of his lingering fear, but the message gets across. Vince shines like a shooting star and advances like one too; swift and uncaring. 

Babu’s confusion is leaving him vulnerable. 

While the green man is not backing down from an approaching Vince, it is clear he wants to. His frantic gaze is flitting between Howard prone on the floor and the ray of sunlight Vince is becoming. 

“Whatever happens, Howard, you’re the best thing that’s ever--” It was perhaps a stretch to expect Babu to allow them this. An exchange of affection and a recharge for Vince’s drained batteries all rolled into one easy near confession. 

The creature between them has lunged forward, magical blade outstretched. Vince raises his arms automatically, the protective action preventing his face from bearing the brunt of the attack but instead meaning two slicing blows land on his forearms. The boy screeches, stumbles backwards clutching at the deep wounds. Howard calls out to him but he isn’t heard over the sounds of his pain.

And in that moment of distraction, Babu turns back to Howard. Eyes flashing and stance animalistic as he advances. 

All he can do is scramble on his hands in an attempt to escape but he’s too late. Babu sinks a fist into his curls and yanks him back enough to rest the cool metal of his knife against Howard’s throat in a clear threat. Already he understands that the best kind of bargaining chip for a volatile fae child is his best friend stroke romantic interest. 

“Stop right there,” Babu hisses when Vince looks like he might attempt to make a move. “Or I’ll be making a lamb shank out of your boy here.” 

It’s incredible that even when cupping his bleeding arm, features pale from his ordeal and tight with pain, Vince still manages to look utterly unaffected by Babu’s threats. If anything they’re adding fuel to an already out of control fire. Vince’s protective streak was perhaps the worst part of his personality to trigger. 

Calculating eyes drop to Howard-- and the faun does his best to keep his features free of his own alarm-- and then they rise to the green man again. Resignation crosses his face. 

“Leave him,” Vince pleads. “I’ll do what you want but leave him.” 

“Vince--  _ ow! _ ” Howard winces as his hair is yanked harder, Babu seemingly having had enough of him interrupting. 

Wordlessly, Vince offers out his uninjured arm. Palm slicked-red from his attempts to stem his own blood flow. The intention is clear without him having to vocalise it. One life for another, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s the outcome the green man had been waiting for. 

It takes the creature no thought at all to release Howard’s head in place of reaching for Vince’s outstretched hand. 

A flick of that blue-grey gaze and Howard understands. 

Combat wasn’t something a man like Howard was used to-- as you can probably tell after five minutes of interacting with him-- but needs must and Vince needed him. With one courage inducing breath he rears his arm backwards and drives his elbow upwards into Babu Yagu’s ribs; he howls with pain and Vince reaches out with one glowing hand to shove him hard enough that he topples backwards onto the cave floor. 

Howard finds himself yanked unceremoniously to his feet and directed behind his companion before he really has the time to process what’s happening. 

“What now?” Howard cries; his broad palms pull at Vince’s upper arms from behind in the hopes of moving them both further from their assailant. 

But Vince plants his feet. Won’t move more than an arm's length away. “Now we finish what mum started,” 

“Vince--” 

“Trust me,” The boy pleads. And god help him, Howard does. 

Babu is ambling to his feet. Grunting and groaning with each move he makes as green skin starts to appear more transparent as time ticks on. Without the connection to Vince, he is getting weaker. Weak enough that whatever the fae child is planning, it just might work. Okay. Guess they’re doing this. 

Howard nods his head to cement his agreement, and he’s rewarded with the widest of grins possible given the circumstances. 

Vince is self-assured in every movement he makes following Howard’s consent. Starting with how he reaches up to cup worshipful hands to Howard’s cheeks and pulls him low enough that by rocking onto his toes he can connect their lips. 

It isn’t romantic; they haven’t really got the atmosphere for that. Vince’s hands tacky with his own blood and Howard’s entire frame still trembling with residual fear. It’s nothing more than one quick peck, Vince ever wary of the threat still looming barely three feet away, and then he withdraws. 

Glowing a way Howard had never seen him do before, Vince turns his back to Howard’s chest and reaches for his hands. Arms are guided about the smaller man’s waist, ordered to stay put with a firm press and then Vince goes still. Unnaturally still. His breathing evens out, his eyes fall closed, this is the most serene Howard has ever seen him and it’s unnerving for a character so usually full of life to be so… calm. 

It’s not just calm though, its preparation. Babu is on his feet once more, staring them down like a bull waiting to charge. His yellowed teeth are bared and his fists are clenched. His red eyes alight with an intense fury but Howard can’t find it in himself to be scared-- not when the boy in his arms is infinitely more terrifying in the right circumstances. 

Vince isn’t glowing anymore he is  _ burning.  _

It’s out of sheer adrenaline that Howard does what he does next. Adrenaline and fear and an all encompassing need to have Vince understand just in case they don’t see the other side of this. There’s no guarantee they will, who knows what happens beyond this point? 

There was no writing to guide them from here. So yes, Howard perhaps takes his chance to act like the lead in a romantic plot. He dips his head low to Vince, presses a kiss to his temple as a demonstration of his adulation. 

“I love you.” 

Blinding light. 

***

Waking up has always been a slow process for Vince. 

It usually takes his brain a painful few minutes to figure out that he is in fact awake before it even bothers trying to turn things on. Internal employees scrambling about to open curtains and power up the engines that drive Vince’s existence for a whole day. 

But even for him, this awakening is slow. 

Dimly, he is aware he’s in a bed. But there’s no hurry for him to pry his heavy eyelids open and confirm this suspicion. It’s a bit like having all the people in his head on break at the same time. There’s no one around to do anything. So he just lets himself lay there for a while, unmoving, dozing happily in the space between rest and consciousness. 

It’s nice. Right until the moment someone kicks the door down to his mental place and screams  _ “What about everything that happened you idiot?”  _ and his memories come screaming back to him in a jarring enough way that his eyes spring open in a panic. 

Sitting bolt upright isn’t an option for him, not even in this state of shock. 

Everything feels a bit distant and fuzzy. He’s not entirely sure he’d be able to get his limbs to cooperate with him even if he could feel them-- what with how his very existence feels like it’s steeped in lead. Heavy and thick. 

All he can do for a hefty chunk of time is cast curious glances around the room and try to fit context clues together. 

It’s an incredible relief that he is quite clearly in Howard’s bed. Logically, where else would he be? The realisation still has some of the panic leaving his body; the vice around his ribs releases some. 

The next thing his attention is drawn to is his state of dress. The pyjamas he had been wearing when he had ventured out into the night-- however long ago that was--were now gone. Instead Vince was left in a pair of pants and an oversized wooly jumper that he presumed must be one of Howard’s half outfits he was given upon arrival. There appears to have been an attempt to double up on the blankets Vince is encased in too. Not just the regular duvet but another two fluffy things tucked around his frame.

There’s a bandage wrapped securely around his arm. 

Having all the clues still doesn’t give him a finished picture. Drawn curtains make it impossible to work out the time of day, though a sometimes reliable (sometimes completely incorrect) body clock insists that it’s late afternoon. There’s that sense about the place of the things winding down. Like time itself moves slower as it draws the day to a close. 

Gingerly, he presses himself into a seated position and perks his ears up in the hopes some more clues might help him figure out the important things. Time. Day. Where exactly Howard is and whether he is okay. 

The entire cabin is eerily silent. 

Of everything it is this fact that worries him most. 

It takes a bit of effort to wrestle himself free of his blankety trappings. Throwing back sheet after sheet-- he has no idea why Howard owns this many blankets-- and then finally sliding so his bare feet hit the wood floor. Even then standing takes a few tries before he manages to remain upright. It’s like being seasick the way he stumbles to the bedroom door; planting one foot in front of the other reminiscent of trying to walk on the rocking of a turbulent boat. Maybe it’s he who’s turbulent, it would certainly make sense. His insides feel like a cake in a washing machine; goopy. 

Swinging the door open he staggers down the short hallway only to find Howard. Still and silent. The faun’s head whips up from where it had been propped in his own hand pitifully and regards him with such an expression of bafflement it was as if the man was seeing a ghost appear before his very eyes. 

Perhaps he was, the way Vince was feeling-- loose and disconnected from his own existence-- there was a real chance he wasn’t really here anymore. 

Neither of them say a word. There’s just too much to possibly categorise any of it into discernible conversation. Vince has always preferred to show rather than tell anyway. He all but sprints the short way across the cabin and collapses into Howard’s lap. The man breathes a sigh of shock intermingled with his own relief at the sudden weight, but he doesn’t try to shake him off. Rather he throws his arms about Vince’s slight frame and presses his nose into his tatty hair. 

They both, it seems, need a moment to get over their fear of never seeing one another again before any coherent conversation can be had. 

And even then, Vince gets so wrapped up in the relief and joy and overwhelming  _ affection _ in that one moment that he thinks of plenty better things they could be doing than using their mouths to talk. There’s no more time to waste in his books, this is it. What they have is each other, that was made clear, surely? 

So when Howard starts to retreat from their hug, Vince changes tact. He turns his head and catches Howard’s lips between his own. It’s sloppy, hurried and over-emotional-- Vince might be crying. Vince is  _ definitely _ crying; the salt of his own tears is a sharp juxtaposition to the soft traces of tea he finds in Howard. The faun isn’t really doing much besides clinging to him like he’s afraid of the man just dissolving in his arms and occasionally shifting his head to meet the requirements of Vince’s demanding hands on his cheeks. 

As expected, Howard's sense of responsibility overtakes any personal enjoyment he may be getting from their kiss before too long. He is pressing gently at Vince’s waist and turning his own face away to prevent Vince chasing him down with his lips. 

“You okay?” Vince asks, the first words he’s spoken in god knows how long. His voice is rough and jagged around his concern. 

The way the faun peers up at him, vulnerable, open, brown eyes shining with all the things he clearly wants to say but mouth held tightly shut to prevent any of it escaping. It makes his heart ache. Vince’s face is raw with his shed tears; he’s helpless against a look like that-- he shifts his knees where they rest either side of Howard’s hips and does his best to press himself ever closer. He hopes the contact is enough, that it will say what neither of them can but Howard’s hands are still pressing him away. 

He’s being kept at arm's length.

“Howard?” 

One large palm rises to Vince’s face, brushing away wetness with a gentle thumb. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to--” 

“Are you insane?” Vince snaps, doesn’t even want to let Howard finish his sentence because he is already certain it’s not going where he wants it to. It's not going to be a reinforcement of his declaration in the cave. More likely, this will be an exercise in back pedalling. “Howard… Everything we know.” 

“Is exactly why it isn’t a good idea.” Howard shifts; terrified he’s going to be pushed away, Vince wriggles further down into his lap and Howard has no choice but to rest his arms around him lest the position become uncomfortable. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything just because a book says it’s going to happen.” 

“I don’t.” Vince pleads, uncaring for the whiny-tone his voice has taken on. “I don’t feel obligated, I just-- Howard I like you.” 

Howard gapes dumbly at him. Apparently unsure what to do with this information he glances away; managing to encapsulate all his guilt in that one action. “Even so,” He says, clearing his throat to rid his voice of his anxious wobble and instead trying to speak with a faux sense of authority. “After everything that’s happened. You need time to recover. I think it's best if we--"

“What are you so scared of?” Vince demands. 

Whatever denial that begins to manifest in Howard’s throat dies before it hits the air. Not that it needs to, his gaze darts down to their respective laps and that’s when Vince’s perception of reality widens past Howard’s eyes and mouth and hands and he realises just why this is a sticking point for the other man. 

Vince’s bare legs are pressed against fur. 

“I…” Vince darts glances up to Howard despite how the man continues to avert his gaze. Uncertainty overcomes him, grabs his jumbled brain in a fist and shakes it about for good measure. Leaves him blinking owlishly at the other man. “I don’t understand.” 

Howard was supposed to be cured-- they’d killed the evil, hadn’t they? 

Following which comes the realisation that Vince’s memory cuts off right after Howard had pressed himself against his back and confessed his feelings. Beyond that there was nothing, only darkness. Perhaps they hadn’t succeeded at all, perhaps this was simply the calm before the storm-- before they inevitably have to kiss goodbye to their happiness and surrender to being swallowed up by darkness. 

More context clues fall into place. 

Howard’s wearing a jumper; the fire is crackling behind him, permeating the air with a gentle warmth. When he turns his head to peer out of the window it’s  _ raining.  _

None of this adds up to anything good. 

“Howard, what’s going on, what happened?” 

There’s the sense of Howard evading him once more. Nervous eyes flitting about from place to place and eventually directing down the hallway. At which point, sensing an out, Howard presses gently at Vince until he slides his feet to the floor and the faun can stand beside him. “Come on, let me look at your arm.” 

Vince isn’t quite strong enough to keep going back and forth on this topic. He’s been trembling since leaving the warm cocoon of the bed, and he is yet to feel steady enough on his feet to stop himself swaying.

With a nod of his head, Howard leads him to the bathroom. 

***

Thus far, no good had come from Howard avoiding Vince’s questions. 

The opposite of good in fact. Terrible, awful things happened because Howard had been too much of a coward to face up to his role and tell Vince from the get go about their intended path. 

Really he should know better. One might assume the ordeal of their encounter with Babu Yagu would have taught him  _ something  _ about how to conduct himself with matters of this kind and yet, while Howard Moon is a self proclaimed academic-- a learner of lessons-- he is self aware enough to know when he is fighting a losing battle with his own timidity. 

Howard was scared. 

It’s exactly why he directs Vince away from conversation by guiding him into the bathroom. He really does want to check the wound on his arm, but it’s also a perfect excuse to talk about anything other than the sad fact that his curse was not broken like they expected. With one authoritative finger, Howard points to the closed lid of the toilet, and prays for once Vince will just obey him. 

No such luck. Thriving on the ability to be contrary, Vince instead turns to the raised surface of the bathroom counter. There are a lot of things about Vince that are distinctly feline but his affinity for perching atop high places was by far the most notable-- and endearing. Despite clearly being much too weak for him to haul himself up there under his own steam, Vince tries his best. 

It’s a little amusing to watch; the stern look of concentration that overcomes him. His tongue peeking out of his mouth and his trembling hands pressing half-heartedly but providing no lift. A little amusing but mostly heart-wrenching. Vince was nothing more than a frail imitation of his former self right now; his mental resolve as fragile as his physical body. The more he tries and fails the more upset he becomes. 

Wide and wet eyes turn on him after a moment, bottom lip protruding in a non-comical way; rather a genuine pout the likes of which prefaces an infant level meltdown. 

Howard can’t say no to that look. 

He steps up and wraps his hands around the boy’s thin waist and hauls him until he can scramble to sit as he pleases. There’s no need to ask why this is where he wanted to be. Mostly because it doesn’t matter, if Vince is content then so is Howard, but it’s also clear as soon as he settles. Here he’s eye level with Howard, there less chance of him escaping those searching blue eyes. 

Reaching into the cabinet, Howard fishes out the first aid kit he had been dipping into with increasing frequency these past few days. Ever since carting an unconscious Vince home he hadn’t really known what else to do besides treat his physical wounds and do his best to combat the slightly more supernatural ailment of his temperature. 

Because he’d been  _ so cold.  _

So cold that his first assumption upon waking in the cave had been that he was perhaps dead, though ragged shallow breaths had thankfully confirmed otherwise. 

But as the days went on, nothing changed. Vince had remained unconscious. So still aside from the rise and fall of his chest that Howard would often have to seek out his pulse just to make sure. And he would not warm up. 

Howard had swaddled him in blankets, dressed him in jumpers and filled hot water bottles to place by his still form but none of it stuck. It was almost as if Vince’s body was actively rejecting warmth-- not retaining anything Howard threw at it-- the same way it might reject the invading cells of a virus. It was not a natural problem by any stretch of the imagination, and Howard was playing a guessing game trying to combat it. 

There were no pages left in the prophecy book to tell him  _ how  _ to combat it. 

If he was honest, after day three of the same pattern he’d been losing his sense of optimism without Vince awake to recharge it for him. Seeing the fae child wobble into the room had damn near knocked him from his chair with relief. 

Even now as he carefully rolls the sleeves of the jumper away from Vince’s arm in order to peer at the red stained bandage; the boy’s frame is wracking with shivers sporadically. But he’s awake, he’s functioning, he’s kicking his feet against the wood paneling below him with an irritating  _ thud thud thud  _ and so Howard manages to subdue his worry with the joy of the thing for now. 

“Stop that,” He scolds lightly, the smirk on his face rather giving him away. 

The kicking stops immediately, though. “What have I missed?” Vince inquires, usually enthusiastic tones of his voice a little dulled around the edges with his exhaustion. “Where’s Babu Yagu? Did we win? What happens now that we did it?” 

“I can only answer one question at a time, you know.” Howard utters. He’s disinclined to stop Vince from talking altogether, given that he had grown to resent the silence he’d left behind, but peeling bandages away from scabbing skin means he hasn’t got the focus to dissect a verbal tirade. 

“What happened after…” The rest of that sentence does not need to be vocalised. Howard knows precisely what part of the ordeal Vince is referencing. 

_ I love you.  _

“Babu is gone.” Howard replies; Vince hisses through his teeth at the sting of disinfectant, kicking his feet against the wood once more as if distracting himself. “At least I think he is, he wasn’t there when I woke up--” 

“What do you think happened to him?” Vince interrupts. 

Smirking, Howard shrugs his shoulders. He shoots a brief glance at the boy to convey his amusement at his curious nature and is met with a similar expression of mirth. His stomach flips. “Hopefully? He’s gone for good. Destroyed by whatever you did. But I suppose we can’t know for sure just yet.” 

Vince nods his head in understanding. The thumb of his free hand rises, slots between his lips for him to bite anxiously at the nail. “How long was I asleep?” 

"Three days." Howard begins the process of redressing Vince's wound. He can feel the sharp blue-grey gaze boring into him. "It's the quietest I've ever known you."

The comment brings a much needed smile to Vince’s face, right up until another bout of shivering rushes over his frame. The boy wraps his free arm about his waist as if he can physically hold the warmth inside of himself. “I’m so cold,” He whines. “Am I supposed to be this cold?” 

"I-- I don't know." Howard shakes his head solemnly, tucks away his supplies and then reaches out to press the back of his hand to Vince's forehead. The Fae child may as well be made of ice how chilly he feels to the touch, still not retaining warmth. "I've been trying my best to warm you up but none of it is sticking."

“Weird.” Vince huffs, which is the understatement of the year. 

It was by far the most concerning of all Vince’s after fight side-effects. Sleeping for days he can understand, it was logical even, given the amount of energy he no doubt discharged in the cave. A knife wound, even if inflicted by a magical blade-- and healing a lot slower than it rightly should-- he could cope with. 

But ice in Vince’s veins? The lack of any colour to his skin when he was used to a healthy glow? It was an unmissable sign something was perhaps not right here-- coupled with the hammering rain they had been having since they had reached home? It was like the forest itself was mourning the loss of… Something. 

The sunshine child, robbed of all his sun. 

"Howard?" Vince whispers into the silence, his pale fingers snag a handful of Howard's jumper to prevent him going too far. "What if I'm… I'm going to--" 

"No. You’re not." 

"How can you know?" 

"I just do." If nothing else Howard  _ refuses  _ to acknowledge that what Vince is suggesting is a possibility. "You're awake, that's progress. The rest will follow, you just need to give yourself time."

Howard fully believes every word he says because he _ has _ to. They faced something terrifying and made it out the other side, there simply wasn't the option of falling at this hurdle now. If it meant he had to supplement Vince’s sunshine nature for him while he recovered, he could try his best to do just that. 

“You need time, and some trousers, I think.” He adds, forcing a startled giggle from Vince’s throat. 

“Yeah, about that.” Vince cocks his curious head to the side, “Whose bright idea was it to leave me in just pants when I’m this cold?” 

“It was better than leaving you in dirty clothes.” Howard offers his hand out, helps Vince slide gingerly down from the counter onto his still unsteady feet. “You did walk halfway across the woods  _ and  _ fight a monster-- I had to clean them.” 

“Alright, alright.” Vince rolls his eyes, settles close to Howard’s side as if trying to steal his warmth by contact alone and Howard doesn’t deny him. “But can we find me something now, I’m  _ freezing.”  _

“I know, little man,” Howard presses a guiding hand to Vince’s lower back and urges him from the room. “I think we should try you with food too, if you’re up for it?” 

As if on cue, Vince’s stomach rumbles comically loud-- the boy himself snickering along with it. “I think that’s a genius idea.” 

***

It is usually not in Vince’s nature to be so idle. 

But in his current state, there’s really not much he can do besides resign himself to the care taking actions of his faun friend, while he huddles beneath a ridiculously fluffy blanket and recharges his spent batteries. 

Howard is reluctant to try him with anything more than a few pieces of toast, just in case Vince’s delicately starved stomach revolts against the sudden introduction of food. So after handing him his snack and a fresh cup of tea, the man has to find better things to do with himself. 

Vince watches on as Howard shuffles about the room in an endless cycle of distraction techniques. He stokes the fire, tidies his writing desk  _ twice,  _ meanders into the kitchen to aimlessly rinse the few dishes he has stacked there. 

And Vince is no expert on emotional wellbeing, but he knows the manifestation of helplessness when he sees it. Howard is searching for something--anything--to do because if he stops then he will likely drown under the same sense of uselessness he has been feeling ever since dragging Vince home from the cave. 

What it must have been like for him, Vince doesn’t dare think about. Howard was a man that craved control in as many aspects of his life he could manage; he would pre-plan his movements as precisely as possible. Itineraries and organisation were his bread and butter. Already Vince throws a lot of that off kilter with his presence, being a creature of impulse that he is. But when you add the layer of him being vulnerable and in need of care? Not just that, but weakened by something unpredictable-- it must have been driving Howard insane all that time spent not knowing how to help. 

Howard was scrambling to regain control of an uncontrollable situation and he was fraying at the edges because of it. 

And besides being awake and present Vince isn’t really sure how he can help. 

Howard’s hovering without purpose by the window, peering out of the rain streaked pane, when Vince decides being unsure isn’t going to stop him trying anyway. If he doesn’t try he is at real risk of allowing the man to get lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. 

"Come and sit with me." Vince orders, knowing well enough not to make it into a request because Howard has been finding reason all day to give the boy a wide berth unless strictly necessary.

Almost as if he doesn’t trust them to avoid a repeat performance of this morning. 

“What?” Howard asks, panicked. 

It’s unclear which of them he trusts less though-- himself or Vince. 

“Come and sit with me.” Vince repeats. He had been spread out on the sofa since Howard had deposited him there some time ago; legs stretched along its length and his back against the arm. Now though, he shifts himself to make plenty of room for the faun to join him. “Pour yourself a cup of tea and sit down. You’re making me knackered just looking at you.” 

“Pretty sure that’s just how people feel after they fight villainous monsters,” Howard says, but he does do as he’s told. Brew in hand, he settles beside Vince and already he begins to feel three times warmer than he had when the faun was on the other side of the room. 

Regardless of giving up on his unspoken rule of distance, Howard still will not look at him. His brown eyes are fixed on a point across the room. Vince is left gazing hopelessly at the side of his face; begging for attention with his eyes alone.

“I don’t know, all the fairytales used to make it sound so easy, show up and slay the bad guy, that’s how it’s supposed to go. So why am I so…” Vince scrambles for the correct word. Something deep in his head. A startlingly familiar voice, a memory of an ordeal, hisses the answer for him. “Broken?” 

Howard whips his head around then and the eye contact is electric. “Don’t say that.” 

“It’s nothing that isn’t true.” 

“I thought I was supposed to be the glum serious one?” Howard teases, and Vince casts him a delicate smirk. "You're made of sunshine, Vince."

"I  _ was _ ." Vince corrects. "Before. I feel all different now, all the colours have faded to black."

Howard looks so utterly uncomfortable to hear this depressing monologue coming from Vince that he can't keep it up for long. Eventually Vince breaks into giggles. The serious façade is shattered, Howard sags with relief. “You bitch." He snaps, though it’s not without its own twist of amusement. "You utter bitch, I thought you were ruined."

Vince titters away, reaching up to scrub at his tired eyes. "I may as well be if you keep hovering around me like I’m gonna shatter any second.” He says, “I’m gonna be fine, ‘oward, you said so yourself. So believe it, please, or how am I supposed to.” 

Howard sighs; but it’s a resigned thing. Acceptance of a fact that he himself hadn’t wanted to admit to until now. That he had been just as afraid as Vince. The air in the room feels a little less glum. Vince himself feels a weight lift from him. 

Yet, before he has even decided to do so, he finds himself grumbling rather petulantly, “And if you could stop avoiding me, that’d be nice too.” 

It just slipped from him. He didn't mean for it to. 

Howard appears as shocked by this passive aggressive utterance as Vince feels having made it. “I’m not avoiding you.” 

Vince huffs a bitter laugh much too quickly for his own liking. It chokes him, the sudden and intense rush of irritation he feels over this rather inconsequential thing. “Yeah, you are.” 

“I’m not--” 

“Howard, ever since this morning you won’t even look at me proper.” The fact even now his gaze is pinpointed somewhere to the left of Vince’s face was more than enough proof of the fact. “Like you think I’m gonna swallow you whole if you get anywhere near me. And look,” He waves a dramatic hand between them to demonstrate. “We’re sitting together and I 'aven’t even  _ touched _ you. Nothing to be afraid of here.”

Except… that isn’t what Howard is afraid of at all, Vince comes to realise. 

The man’s eyes flash guiltily, darting askance. Vince feels annoyance and rejection bubble in his gut as an aborted movement outs Howard’s real concern. One of the faun’s hand’s twitches, rises as if to touch Vince but it ceases before the action can come to fruition; instead those fingers bury themselves in the thick fur of his thighs and grip hard enough to pull. 

Howard isn’t at all worried about what Vince might do, it’s himself he’s worried about. 

And as much as a dark part of his psyche wants to rip that hand from its perch and demand Howard follow through on his intentions  _ for god’s sake _ . He manages to keep a lid on it. If only because he knows actions like that will not help them over this hurdle. 

Howard is flighty. He’s skittish like a chicken in a fox den when it comes to serious topics. If you wanted proper conversation from him then he has to be coaxed and cradled like something delicate. Which usually would not be a problem for Vince, he was a conversational wizard when he put his mind to it. Not that bright in many areas but people were something of a speciality for him. 

The only problem being that he was  _ knackered _ at the moment. His thought process is about as helpful as a dog once it’s been shown a leash; erratic and unreliable. Darting about the place. While the body holding his dog like mind was lethargic; a sleep deprived slow loris in need of a caffeine boost and a nap. 

And to top it all off? There was this unsettling feeling in his chest that had been present since he had woken. 

Like he was hollow. 

So rather than try and combat the romantic elements of this whole experience; Vince settles on a topic distinctly more mundane. “Do you think I broke the weather, too?” He asks conversationally. He can practically see Howard’s metaphorical feathers being smoothed. 

“I’m not sure,” Howard cocks his head to one side thoughtfully, brow furrowing. “You certainly did something; it’s not stopped raining since.” 

“Maybe that’s why I’m cold-- I’m like a solar panel. Or a sunflower. I need the sun to live.” 

Chuckling, Howard shakes his head. “No, I think it’s the other way around.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Now bashful, Howard elaborates. “Well, I always assumed it was summer all the time because of you. Your family made this place after all. Suppose I always thought that the weather was imitating you-- there’s no clouds in the world of Vince Noir is there? You’re made of candy floss and glitter.” 

Vince’s insides twist sharply and it’s all the warning he gets before he is once more shedding tears. The second time  _ today _ that he has found himself crying over the slightest provocation-- good or bad --and he feels like an utter tit because of it. The embarrassment only adds to the intensity of his sobs, he’s forced to bring a hand up to his face to cover himself up like if he can’t see Howard while he bawls then Howard won’t be able to see him doing it. 

There isn’t even a solid reason he can pinpoint as the trigger. Was it perhaps how much affection had suddenly overcome him for this stupid stubborn goat man? Or perhaps it was the sentiment itself, that this magical little world had been emulating Vince’s sunshine attitude in wait of his return. Even the small but loud part of his inner monologue that was screeching  _ How can he say things like that to you but he can’t touch you-- what does it mean?  _ It could be any or all of it, really. 

But most likely, it was the way Howard had said it. Like the sun rose every morning because of Vince. 

Talk about mixed messages. 

Howard’s arms length rule goes out the window the second he spots Vince’s upset. He’s set his half empty mug aside in an instant and hovers a hesitant hand in the air between them before throwing caution to the wind and reaching to drop that hand onto Vince’s shoulder. 

It’s a greenlight as far as he is concerned. He is shifting himself against the fauns side, tucking his face into his neck before Howard would really have a chance to process what was happening. And despite stiffening for a second, long enough Vince fears he is going to be pushed away, Howard eventually resigns himself to dishing out physical comfort and settles into the embrace. 

It’s the warmest he’s felt since waking up, being at his side like this.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Howard says softly. Apparently resigned enough to letting Vince cuddle him that he even gives his whole body a soft squeeze. 

“You didn’t,” Vince mutters. “Dunno what’s wrong with me. Like a weepy ice sculpture at the moment.” 

“Well maybe if you cry it all out the rain will stop,” Howard suggests, the tone straddles the line between serious and humorous enough that Vince really can’t tell if he was joking. 

“That’s jus’ it,” Vince sniffles, scrubs at his face with one hand. “We don’t know do we? It’s all maybes and it’s frustrating and complicated and I’m not used to-- to havin’ to  _ think  _ this much it’s--” The thought doesn’t finish itself, another rough sob forces itself free. 

He feels stretched too thin. He feels light. Wrecked. Floating uselessly in a state of limbo and no way to ground himself to anything real. This empty part of himself-- the cavern of his chest-- is echoing with his own helplessness. Poison ricocheting off every shattered edge and filling him up with such a sense of  _ wrongness _ that he doesn’t know how to be. And he doesn’t know how to begin to convey any of this to Howard. He doesn’t know how to explain this jagged broken thing he is now… Because it doesn’t feel like the same being he was before. 

Part of him is content to lay here and cry over his predicament but there are other parts. Snarling, feral parts he never remembers having that want to scream and kick out and destroy as a form of therapy. 

He wants to wreck something beautiful just because he  _ can _ … and more than anything that terrifies him. 

The only way he can think to express any of this is growling his frustration into the fabric of Howard’s jumper; clenching the material between tight fists and tugging in his tantrum state. 

“Shh.” Howard pulls him tighter against his side, drags one palm up and down his side. “Winding yourself up about it won’t help.” 

Vince has to physically prevent himself reminding Howard that they don’t  _ actually  _ know if it will or won’t help because thus far, it’s not like any of the obvious answers have worked. Maybe a good old meltdown was just what the doctor ordered. Instead, he resigns himself to the fleeting nature of the comfort, and sags against his side. 

Eventually, with Howard’s comforting touch and a rather embarrassing amount of continued crying-- Vince snatches the pieces of himself back. He can’t slot them into place; not since the frame of his existence seems to be altering its shape so wildly, but he can hold onto them for a while. Can pretend he has himself put together long enough to try and explain himself. 

“I feel like I left something up there,” Vince says, voice hoarse, and without looking he can feel how Howard winces. “Like I’m not whole anymore, and I don’t know why. I-- What if this is it now?” 

With more confidence than he had displayed up until that point, Howard draws away enough to tilt Vince’s chin up towards him. Maintains that startling eye contact and declares. “What you did up there was incredible, Vince, but it was a lot. Your body just isn’t used to that kind of thing, that’s all. Give yourself time.” 

And despite it being the exact same sentiment that Howard had expressed to him multiple times already today, this is the one time Vince actually believes him. Because he isn’t shying away or drawing back. He’s holding him, looking him in the eye with such stubborn defiance about his words that as far as Vince is concerned, what he’s saying is  _ fact.  _

“Okay. Alright, I believe you.” He says, drags the sleeves of the jumper over his cheeks to clear away tears, and now that contact is initiated it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere fast. Vince remains plastered to his friend’s side; thriving on his warmth. “Hmm, You’re so warm.” 

“Fur will do that to you.” 

It seems as good a moment as any to broach the awkward topic. Vince having already had a miniature meltdown in Howard’s lap-- how much worse can it get? Vince leans back, meets Howard’s eyes and says, “You’re still not human.” 

Howard looks away again, and Vince can’t understand why Howard looks so guilty about it. Why he is acting like it is somehow his own fault for being this way. Apologetic. 

Surely, if anything, Vince is the one who has failed here. 

“I thought once we got rid of it then you’d be free?” He presses, Howard still shows no sign of answering him. “It’s dead, doesn’t that break your contract?” 

Howard shakes his head. “It’s not as easy as that, I’m afraid.” He sighs, restless fingers seek something to fiddle with but being looped over Vince’s shoulders means what he’s left with is the knotted and messy strands of Vince’s hair. He gently twirls strands of it. “Magic doesn’t follow rules, otherwise your mother’s spell never would have kept going after she…” 

And yes, that makes sense. Vince was relatively new to this magic business, he supposes it was a far stretch to expect it to be solved with the simple solution. But he still finds himself puzzled as, in his mind, Howard’s contract had been broken moments before they dealt with Babu. 

_ I love you.  _

“But…” Vince gnaws on his lip, tries to find the best words to approach this in order to avoid being driven away again. “But shouldn't it have broken anyway given that we’re…” Vince can’t even bring himself to say it because Howard looks so panicked and his body goes so stiff that he immediately deflates. Howard doesn’t have to push him away this time, Vince pulls himself from his reach. “Don’t do this again, Howard, please, I haven’t got the energy.” 

Howard gapes, looks for a moment as if he’s going to deny doing anything, but a sharp glare from Vince stops him in his tracks. Instead he tries to reason his way out of it. “I just think--” 

“That’s exactly the problem, ‘oward!” Vince snaps, and even then it’s a weak cry of a thing. He wasn’t lying, he really didn’t have the energy for this. “You’re up in your head too much, can’t just let things happen cause you’re getting all panicky and weird about it.” 

“We’ve known each other less than a week, Vince!” Howard cries, pained even as he speaks the logical truth. 

“But you  _ said it _ !” Vince counters, his tone rough with his annoyance. 

Howard averts his gaze once more, drops his eyes closed as if he can hide from the fact that he did and Vince feels himself verging dangerously close to tears again-- not the sad kind either. The destructive, unhinged kind. Because what if he didn’t mean it… What if he hadn’t intended it to go any further than a helpful nudge to defeat Babu. 

But no. Almost as soon as the thought crosses his mind Vince dismisses it as impossible. Howard may be many things--a stubborn arse and a coward--but he’s not cruel. He wouldn’t purposefully string Vince along like that no matter what was at stake. 

Which means, it’s not his own feelings he doubts. 

_ Howard doesn’t believe Vince loves him. _

And okay, Vince never got the chance to say it back but he was a bit preoccupied with other things. That doesn’t make it any less real. Was Howard missing for the part of their ordeal where Vince  _ kissed  _ him? 

“Howard, I--” 

“Don’t.” Another one of those sighs like Vince is a misbehaving five year old rather than an adult perfectly capable of making his own choices.  _ Stupid kid. Silly naive boy.  _ “Please don’t.” 

It’s at that point Vince decides whether he’s fragile or not he is still well enough to throw a decent tantrum. And given all this leftover negative energy he’s carrying with him? It manifests in the ugliest way possible. “Fuck you.” He snaps. Wrestles himself to his feet and starts off down the hallway. 

“Vince, wait,” 

“No.” Vince screeches, despite the fact he does stop in his tracks. He turns on his wobbly feet in order to glare at the man as he scrambles to his hooves and makes to follow him. All his fury rushes forth at once, words that he doesn’t even have to think about spill from him because they’re already there--predetermined--someone else had loaded the gun and cocked it, but Vince was the one taking aim. “I only went through all of this because of you and your  _ shitty  _ decisions. I can’t believe you’re going to sit there and--  _ God  _ you’re such an arsehole.” 

Even caught up in his turbulent emotion he knows he’s crossing a line but he  _ can’t stop.  _ It just keeps tripping from him; tumbling forwards in a rush. The poor man is defenceless against the onslaught. Stands firm opposite and allows it to happen, nothing more than a sad downturn to his mouth giving away his upset. 

“If you’re so blind to what’s going on here then there’s _no_ hope for you.” Vince hisses, the residual darkness in his veins gives a pleased hum. Howard looks shell-shocked, unable to move in the face of Vince’s verbal assault. “Utterly hopeless, pathetic little goat man. I’m better than this, I’m better than _you.”_

Even as he drags himself away from his undeserving victim and stumbles his way back to the bedroom; there’s something hissing in his ear and telling him to slam the door as hard as he possibly can. He does. Rattles the frame how roughly he drags it closed. It’s satisfying for all of a second before he’s sinking to the floor with his back against the door and dropping his head into his hands. 

He breathes deeply. Presses a hand over his eyes like he can hide from his actions. Fresh tears to spring forth. “What am I becoming.” 

Because what happened out there? He never used to be  _ that.  _

***

There are two options that present themselves as soon as Vince has shut himself in the bedroom rather loudly and dramatically. 

Obviously, the first being that he can follow the fae child and try to coax him from his dark mood. They could talk about this, like real mature adults and get to the bottom of, not only their personal feelings, but also just what has gone wrong with Vince since the cave.

Because despite their short acquaintance, Howard knows Vince. Granted, it’s not that hard. There wasn’t much to him, and he says that with the greatest of affection possible. He was an open book, a song blasting at it’s highest possible volume, a neon sign in the dark. Vince was easily learnt and understood. And Howard  _ knows  _ him. 

What just happened wasn’t Vince. 

That display was one of cruelty and belonged to a soul much more tainted than the untouched innocence of Vince Noir’s existence. Which of course leads to the question… just what had happened to Babu after Vince had seemingly destroyed him. 

What had happened to  _ Vince _ in the act of destroying something. 

Was this anger another lingering symptom or was it something to be deeply concerned about. Again, who knew. All of Howard’s knowledge on this topic began and ended with what the prophecy book had told him… and that had ceased it’s tale with the cave. 

So he could go after him. Attempt a second round of comfort with contact and gentle whispers of affirmation. Remind Vince who he is one act of affection at a time until the boy can begin to rebuild himself from the inside out. 

He could do that, or he could live up to his reputation of not maintaining the bravery he boasted and instead hunker down on the sofa and attempt to lull himself into sleep. Forcefully preventing himself from intentionally replaying every little thing about their interactions since Vince had strolled delicately over the border and turned Howard’s world upside down. How he’d brought with him such hope and fear and intense whirlwinds of devotion that Howard’s surprised he hasn’t got whiplash from it all. 

Psychoanalysing every spoken word or affectionate gesture in the hopes of understanding what was going on between them was going to help no one-- not really. First and foremost, figuring out what was wrong with Vince and how to best help him was the top priority. 

_ I feel like I left something behind in that cave.  _

And Howard hadn’t been conscious to witness what had happened to Babu Yagu after the explosion of energy that Vince became; but he had some theories. 

You see, all that time ago when Vince had posed that  _ ‘Someone like Howard’  _ didn’t seem the type to let strange things happen without questioning them, he’d been right. Howard was always thinking, planning, wondering about the world he lived in-- his problem lay in the fact he didn’t operate like Vince on die hard optimism, and every possible explanation he could come up with led him down a road much too terrifying to consider. 

Which is why about a year into his stay here he had stopped questioning everything. Yielded to his life in this comfortable (albeit strange) existence until the fae child arrived. And now, here Vince was. He had solved many mysteries with his presence, that was for sure. Mother Noir, apparently being present in the very weaving of this world, was supposedly the one keeping Howard in comfort all this time-- despite the faun being the trigger to a series of rather terrible events for her only child. 

But with answers came more questions. 

None of which Howard has the energy nor emotional resilience to dissect at the moment. He’d rather just sleep and face it with a fresh pair of eyes in the morning. 

However, days on the sofa are taking their toll. Too big and awkward to properly fit on the space his back is aching, and uncomfortable thoughts circle through his mind; dancing and vocalising like a twirling ballerina in a music box. One with Vince's face. Sleep was a distant memory. 

He has no idea what time it is when the door to the bedroom creaks open; but he knows it’s late. The sun set long ago, the fire in the hearth burnt out. The moon is casting twisted milky shadows through the window; leaving everything in a murky dull light. 

The silhouetted shape of Vince hovers in the doorway, frame trembling. He's completely silent, yet easily explaining what has happened with how his shape is hunched in a mirror of a terrified child after a particularly vivid night terror. 

He is just watching Howard. 

And Vince has never been awkward in his life, Howard is willing to bet money on that fact. He radiates casual charm. He’s the epitome of ease. Nothing gets to Vince Noir, at least not that you can ever tell. The mask he wears is expertly crafted and Howard thinks there are precious few beings who have seen underneath it. 

But this right now? It is awkward. The shape of him doesn’t fit right in the air it occupies. All sharp edges and geometric shapes crammed together to make this tiny little thing that just gazes at him helplessly; eyes so unnaturally blue in the moonlight they may as well be dolls eyes. Awkward does not fit Vince. It’s three sizes too small and at the same time much too large. Swallows him up. Howard isn’t sure he can even see the boy for the discomfort he’s swaddled in. 

It’s perhaps why he needs no verbal prompting to stagger to his hooved feet and wrap the smaller man in a hug. 

An oversight on his behalf to think he’d be the only sleepless one in the house tonight. 

The second they’re in contact Vince sags to him, huffs a breath of relief. Even Howard has to admit-- despite his arduous efforts to keep himself firmly away from Vince all day lest they end up doing something stupid-- being near him is a comfort, and he supposes the feeling must go both ways. 

It’s probably overly trite to say, but it feels like a missing piece clicking into place. Nothing is wrong with the world when Vince is by his side; shaking fingers plucking at the fabric of his jumper and pressing his forehead against his chest. 

“I’m sorry, I--” 

“Shh, it’s okay.” Howard doesn’t even need to clarify what the apology is for. Their fight or waking him at an early hour. Both. Neither, maybe it’s for something entirely different. It doesn’t matter. Howard forgives him anyway. 

They hover there for a while, basking in the reassurance of each other's solidifying existence. Then those elegant fingers are pressing in between his own. Their hands link and Vince gives the kind of gentle tug that despite its innocence sets Howard’s heart beating in double time. 

“Vince--” 

“Please.” And every spark of fight Howard had in him is doused immediately with that one whispered plea. 

Regardless of any sense of personal guilt Howard is still harbouring, Vince needs him and he’s never been able to say no to this man. Whether he be ordering him to sit for a drawing or curling in his lap for a sleepy. What Vince wants. Vince usually gets. 

Another tug and Howard allows himself to be led into the room. Vince slips under the piles of sheets and Howard sets about rearranging the amount of them so there’s space for him. His jumper is tugged over his head; aware he may just overheat with the excessive amounts of blankets but unwilling to remove any of them lest Vince suffer another shivering night. 

The second he slides into place Vince is unashamedly throwing limbs about him; hanging on like a limpet. “You’re like a walking hot water bottle.” He sighs, already closing those perfect eyes and huffing deep breaths indicative of someone with their foot halfway through the door of sleep. 

Howard doesn’t reply verbally, choosing instead to thread his arm beneath Vince’s head and hold him close. At least he can convince himself this is for Vince’s own good rather than something for his own enjoyment. 

Howard definitely tries not to fall asleep grinning. 

***

The concept of bliss wasn’t something Vince could ever admit to experiencing. 

He was a happy person, that was true, Vince’s world was made of glitter and rainbows. He viewed reality through rose tinted glasses at all times, even when things were going wrong. Optimist until the end. But bliss? A state of perfect happiness? 

He didn’t know that until he wakes up beside Howard. 

Blinking his eyes open to the sight of Howard’s features, smoothed and tranquil with sleep--the most relaxed Vince has ever seen him--is the closest to complete and utter serenity Vince has ever known. Nothing can possibly be wrong in this universe. In this world where he wakes up to this face, everything is right; the earth turns and birds sing and not a  _ single thing  _ ever goes awry. 

Despite both being restless sleepers and moving around in the night, they have remained magnetised to one another. Vince is on his stomach, arms tucked beneath his pillow and face turned towards Howard’s, while the faun is on his side, pressed along the length of Vince’s body with an arm tossed carelessly across his lower back. It’s like they couldn’t stand to be more than an inch apart even while unconscious. 

The thing that surprises him the most though, is that when he stretches languidly and turns his head to peer out of the window the sun is high in the sky; it must be at least noon and they’re still here. A miracle when you consider Howard is normally awake at the crack of dawn; his body set to an internal clock out of his control. 

It is his full intention to bask in the calm energy of their morning. Relax into the cuddling he’s getting and laze the day away. As far as he is concerned they have both earned it. More than earned it actually, they were  _ owed _ it. The universe can shove anything it had planned for today up it’s arse. It can go and whistle. Vince’s plans were to coax Howard to remain between the sheets and make up for his blatant mistreatment of him the night before with amusing conversation and soft affection. 

Maybe convince him with this activity that his feelings weren’t one sided. 

Except when he rolls onto his side, wriggles his toes and arches his back like a contented cat in the sun, his jumper slips up his arm enough to reveal his uninjured forearm. 

It’s glowing. 

It’s dull. Incredibly so, weak enough that it could almost be mistaken for his pale skin catching the weak light spilling into the room; but Vince knows better. He can feel it in his bones. A light fizzing sensation. Warmth. A little less hollow than he’d felt the night before. 

“Howard!” He says, jostling himself into a seated position at the same time as reaching out to shove at Howard’s shoulder and repeating his name with increased volume. “Howard, Howard, wake up!” 

In a panic, the poor faun shoots awake, repeating  _ “What? What is it? What’s the matter?” _ and variations thereof, over and over, until squinted startled eyes land on the arm Vince is holding out for him to see. 

Lethargic panic blinks into unfiltered joy as soon as Howard registers what he’s looking at. With all the care of someone handling a fragile newborn, Howard cups the arm in both hands. He looks at it like a man in the desert looks at an oasis. A drowning man thrown a lifeline. Hope. Wonder. The kind of overt faith that settles in Vince’s own stomach and convinces him everything is going to be okay. 

The glow begins midway up his forearm, spreads down over his wrist and into his palm. It doesn’t quite make it to his fingers, though. Howard rotates the hand in between his own, brushes a gentle thumb over the skin in exploration. As he does, the light grows in intensity and then dims again. A flickering bulb, trying its best but not quite managing anything substantial. 

They both have the same thought at the same time--one mind two bodies-- and his bandaged arm is brought up to compare. Sadly, there is no glow on that side. The skin is still pale and ice cold to the touch. 

“I’m uneven.” Vince pouts, though even that action does not disguise the strength of his enthusiasm. 

Howard rolls his eyes. “Uneven but improving, I think that’s something, isn’t it?” 

It certainly is. After the time they have had Vince would go as far as to say it wasn’t just something but it was  _ the thing.  _ A trigger, the beginning of the final part of this insane saga. Hopefully. He gives the briefest of nods in agreement but it’s a secondary motion, he’s much too busy gazing at Howard and wondering how best to articulate how  _ happy  _ he is at this moment. 

For all he cares the rest of it can cease to be. As long as they can stay here, cosied to one another's sides and revelling in their joint victory. Vince’s lower lip pulls between his teeth, Howard’s attentive gaze drops to watch the action unfold. The air thickens but Howard doesn’t retreat from him. The faun sucks in a small breath, something clenches beneath Vince’s ribs. 

He considers dipping himself forwards; overcome as he is with rolling waves of endearment for this man, but a part of him wants to see if Howard will do it himself. If he’ll get over his ridiculous sense of propriety and allow himself a chance to just be impulsive for once. Give in to the  _ need  _ of the thing. 

Vince thinks he might have, he certainly looked close to it, but it’s at that point Howard chooses to draw attention to Vince’s continuing pattern for shedding tears over the most insignificant of things. He hadn’t realised he was doing it until there’s a thumb sweeping the tears away; Howard’s smile is twisted with amusement and sympathy. “Still teary then?” 

“Shut up.” Vince snaps, not at all unkindly. He brushes Howard’s hand aside in order to wipe at his own face with his non-glowing hand. Howard seems unwilling to let go of the glowing one. “I’ll be honest I can’t wait for this bit to be over,” He sniffles. “I’m way too cool to be crying all the time.” 

“I think it suits you,” Howard utters, and Vince thinks this is becoming of  _ him _ . This content tranquility the faun’s radiating. Not overthinking every word or movement. Gazing at Vince softly, sleep rumpled and placid. “All tear streaked and messy-- you make it work.” 

“You’re a freak.” Is Vince’s affectionate reply. Though he finds himself stuttering out a laugh. 

Wrapped in the safety of their own world, Howard gathers enough courage to pull Vince forward for a hug. It’s not the kiss he’d been hoping for, nor the reinforcing of Howard’s feelings. But if he had to take this one step at a time then Vince will take Howard’s confidence in hugging him as a positive stride. “I told you. You're not broken,” He mumbles into Vince’s hair. “You just need time, you’ll get there.” 

“Yeah.” 

“ _ And _ .” Howard retreats, cups his hand to Vince’s forehead. “You don’t feel  _ as  _ cold as yesterday.” 

Vince at least agrees on this front. He feels less like he will freeze to death at any moment despite how he still shivers gently. More like a soft chill than sub zero. “Well... I think I might try a shower, actually. If that’s alright.” 

“Of course.” The request startles Howard into action. Switch flipped, their haven dissolves around them and the rest of the world returns to focus. Caretaker Howard rushes to the forefront once more. He shuffles from the bed and helps Vince to his feet who, despite his brief spate of glowing, is still wobbly where he stands. “I’ll make some breakfast and I’ll check on your arm after.” 

That plan in mind, Vince goes to his shower with a fresh feeling of optimism about himself. 

***

Howard can’t smother his grin no matter how hard he tries. 

He spends the entirety of Vince’s shower doing his best to reign in his optimism. It would do neither of them any good if they got too ahead of themselves, tricked into a false sense of security that everything was  _ just fine  _ when they still had so much to figure out and deal with. Progress was good but it didn’t mean the end of this journey. 

On the other hand though. 

_ Vince is getting back to normal.  _

The sleep-soft creature he’d woken with that morning was the Vince he had come to know. Other worldly in the morning light; completely unblemished by the ordeals of their troubles and lovely to behold because of it. 

It was hard not to get excited by the appearance of such a thing. It certainly made it a lot easier to forget the whip crack of insults from the night before. The poison that had dripped from his tongue like a second language and how  _ wrong  _ it was to bear witness to. No, with a development like this morning, things like that were easy to put out of their minds. 

True to his word, as soon as Vince is done in the shower, Howard raps his knuckles against the door and they assume a mirror of their positions from the day before. Vince still needs help to get onto the counter, and this time he doesn’t need to go through the strain of trying before Howard steps up and lifts him. Though, as he settles, Vince’s cheeks flush pink rather than remaining their sickly pale colour. It’s a delightful sight. 

The entire time Howard treats Vince’s injured arm, the boy continues staring down at his glowing one. 

“It flickers,” Vince says, as Howard is busy rewrapping his wound. 

“Hm?” 

“This little patch of my glow.” As if to demonstrate the point, he waves the arm around-- almost completely dislodging Howard from his bandaging as his whole body sways dangerously with the action. “It went away while I was in the shower and now it’s back again.” 

Which, while curious, is by far not the strangest occurrence to date. There are plenty of reasons why Vince’s glowing may not be able to maintain a constant like it had before but the simple fact of the matter was they didn’t  _ know.  _

Not for certain. Anyway. 

Howard had ideas though, plenty of ideas. Ideas that involved Vince spitting abuse at him, a persistent chill, a feeling of emptiness, and a struggling glow. But those were all things he wasn’t quite ready to give voice to.

“Maybe you haven’t recharged enough to maintain it,” Is the explanation Howard settles on, wary of bursting Vince’s soap-bubble joy right now. “You’re not glowing all over either-- it is probably your body’s way of saving energy.” 

“Yeah but…” Vince is casting glances between Howard and his own golden skin. Seemingly trying to form his own conclusions. “Doesn’t it seem odd, all these things happening? Do you think it means something?” 

Damn that perceptive mind. 

“I don’t know,” Howard admits honestly. “It could. Or it could be a perfectly regular recovery from an irregular occurrence. I don’t make a habit of using magic, I’m not sure what the after-effects are.” 

And in an added display of how he seems to be getting back to himself, Vince huffs. “As if anyone would give  _ you  _ magic.” 

It’s a jibe but it’s one that makes his heart soar. Vince is peeking up at him from under his fringe, waiting to see his reaction and Howard sticks his tongue out jovially. “I could do great things with magic, I’ll have you know.” 

“Boring things.” 

“Responsible things,” Howard corrects. He offers a hand, Vince easily taking the support and using it to help himself down from the counter. “The world needs a hero, Vince, I could be that hero.” 

Vince cackles so hard he nearly chokes, has to prop himself against Howard’s side as he catches his breath. Howard doesn’t mind much, happy that Vince is finding joy wherever he can. Though he does put on a display of faux annoyance, furrows his brows and wrinkles his nose. “I fail to see what’s so amusing.” 

“It’s just funny that you think that.” Vince answers when he can pull enough air into his lungs to do so. “That you think you’re a hero.” 

“How dare you, I am a heroic character.” 

“You’re comic relief if anythin’.” Vince says, Howard presses at his lower back, directs them out into the living room once more. “My soft little sidekick with his funny little goat’s legs and tiny crabs eyes.” 

Howard stops in his tracks long enough to strike a--in his mind--noble pose. One hand on his hip (the other still supporting Vince's uncertain weight) and his chest puffed out. He holds his head high, looks down his nose at the snickering Fae child. “I’ll have you know my legs aren’t  _ funny,  _ they're  _ majestic. _ ”

It’s lucky they’re beside the sofa because this time, when Vince loses himself to his laughter, his weakened legs all but give out from underneath him. The boy folds like a piece of origami paper, back hitting the cushions and his hands pressing against his stomach as peels of giggles tumble out of him. 

Howard’s never witnessed anything as beautiful. 

Vince’s laughter is music that follows him across the room to his writing desk. Now that the important tasks of the day were complete, those all being to care for Vince, there was a healthy slot of free time in their future. He’d rather fallen behind on his journaling since Vince had been ill; trapped in a precarious state of wanting to occupy his mind with anything but unable to focus enough to execute  _ anything _ . He’d spent most of those days tidying and reorganising the whole cabin. 

Now, with nothing of urgency to take care of and Vince’s still cackling form reminding him everything is okay. He thinks it might be a perfect time to catch up with his writings. 

Today was a day to enjoy one another’s company, he thinks, and the thought process must be a shared one because Vince is tugging the throw from the back of the sofa around his shoulders and snatching the prophecy book from the coffee table. 

Howard raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to read it again?” 

Blue eyes peek up at him from over the cover. “Yeah, maybe we missed something.” 

The chances of both of them missing something was a tad unbelievable to Howard. For one, the faun had read the thing perhaps twice monthly since discovering it. And secondly, Vince had been too desperate for answers to do anything but take his time in scanning the words; hungry for the context of his own existence. Savouring every ink stroke. 

But, he isn’t going to dampen his hope. So he nods his understanding and turns back to his desk. Pen scratching against paper was the only sound in the room for some time; the aural manifestation of Howard's thought process. His very existence condensed to the scrawl of his handwriting. 

The ponderous silence lasts perhaps ten minutes; eight minutes longer than Howard expected. 

“Howard?” 

“Mm?” 

“What you writin’ about in your journals?” 

Howard spares him a glance. Vince's curiosity had two distinct settings. Surface-level interest: in which enquiries were made for the sake of filling a pouch of undesirable silence, but whatever Howard said was at risk of trickling through Vince's memory like water through a sieve. Or, genuine fascination: the boy eagerly desiring a specific piece of information and prepared to verbally barter to get it. 

This was the second option. 

Eyes wide and attentive to everything Howard says; ears pricked. Teeth caught on his lip in anticipation of being told no--it wouldn’t be the first time Howard had denied him answers--and to forget about it. Howard is suddenly drowning in his diffidence. 

“Just about my life,” Howard attempts to shrug the answer off. “About this place. What happens here, things I know or see.” 

“Am I in it?” 

“Do you really think I could avoid writing about you?" Howard rolls his eyes but it is a fond thing. Vince responds with a knowing grin, his glowing patch flickering sporadically with his fluctuating joy. "You’re like a bluebottle, buzzing around my existence. It’d be hard to exclude you.” 

The grin remains in place as, like someone trying to decipher a riddle, Vince cocks to one side curiously. “Was that a compliment?” 

And Howard honestly isn’t sure. But what he declares is, “No.” 

“I think it was,” The prophecy book is snapped shut, Vince presses himself from his previously reclined position and grins over at him. “I think you just gave me a compliment.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“That’s so sweet, Howard.” Vince coos, and when Howard opens his mouth to deliver another firm denial over the ambiguous nature of his good word, he is promptly cut off by Vince’s eyeline. It dips, dropping low to where Howard’s tail pokes through the slats of his chair and is no doubt doing a wonderful job of giving him away completely. 

_ Bloody tail.  _

Of all the things that were annoying about the extra appendage--sitting in certain positions could be deeply uncomfortable for a start-- the fact it was such an obvious indicator of his moods was by far the front runner. How was he ever supposed to get anything done if it continued to wriggle whenever Vince paid him the slightest bit of attention? Better yet, how was Vince going to be anything but spoiled for affection if this one part of his anatomy jumps at the chance to remind him of his adoration for the fae child. 

The only upside of the whole interaction is that Vince is flushing with delight. And for that, Howard can suffer through the mild embarrassment of being found out. Though he continues to mask his features into a false sense of irritation and turns back to his writing. 

Hoping for more silence is a bit of a stretch. It isn’t even a whole minute before the boy is calling his name again. “Howard?” And he does try to ignore him, if only just until he finishes this sentence. “Howard? How-ard.  _ Howard?”  _

“What?”

“It’s stopped raining.” Vince points out. 

“So it has,” Howard says, turns in his seat once more to level him with an  _ 'and? _ ' expression. Cocking one brow at the boy quizzically. “Though, not exactly back to it’s usual summer sunshine. Still grey out there.” 

Vince mulls this thought over, periodically glancing between the window and his unbandaged arm where it peeks out from under the blanket he’s wrapped himself in. Howard can feel his thoughts from across the room--hung low, shoulders shifting, ready to pounce, teeth bared and vicious--threatening to drag Vince under. And to be honest, now that the fae child is in the room with him, getting anything down on paper was proving to be a bit difficult. 

So, with a sigh, he flips his journal closed and turns to give the boy his full attention. "Go on," Howard instructs.

Vince’s startled expression only lasts as long as it takes him to realise what Howard means. That he’s being invited to speak his mind. “I saw her, you know.” He says confidently, and Howard doesn’t have to ask who he means. “When I was just laying there all drained and helpless-- I think I saw my mum.” 

Howard swallows thickly, but he doesn’t discourage Vince. In matters like these anything was possible, even a pessimistic goat-man knew that. In fact, he’d more than believe it after everything he experienced in the forest that night too. Howard may not have seen her  _ physically _ , but she was there. 

“If she knew all of this was gonna happen then what if she knew about this bit too?” Vince utters; all pure-hope and childlike faith. 

Which is a perfectly reasonable assumption. A very logical one, in fact, but that still didn’t help them. “The book ended, Vince. You read it cover to cover, you know that. Maybe she... “ He clears his throat, dislodging his words. “Maybe she wasn’t sure what would happen to you after the cave.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Vince may not be an awkward creature but Howard is. He struggles verbalising his thought processes. Gets persnickety about his wording. Frantically overthinks how he comes across. As he sits now, doing his best to express his meaning, he brushes a hand over his face, and huffs deep sighs of anxiety. Eventually biting the bullet is the only option, and he moves himself across the room to settle in the empty space at Vince’s side. The boy's one glowing arm gives a spark of joy at this fact--a tell as much as Howard’s bastard tail--and he reaches for the prophecy book. 

Vince watches on with unabashed curiosity. Howard flips to a page from memory, reads aloud.  _ “And with the sacrifice of the fae child, the evil will be stopped.”  _

Honestly, he needn’t have even opened the book. Howard knew that line from memory. It had haunted him five years since first discovering it. From the moment he had met Vince in person and realised just what this boy was destined for. 

But Vince is still blinking at him in confusion like he doesn’t understand what Howard is insinuating. “Vince, I always thought you were going to die up there.” He says. 

Vince gapes at him. Annoyance and offence crossing his face. “Oh cheers!” 

“No,” And despite the rather serious nature of the topic, he finds himself snorting in amusement. “No, I mean. Everything in this book is as vague as it comes, even the little things. When I first read it I thought it was always intended for you to offer yourself up like a strangely dressed starter-- which you  _ did _ do, by the way.” Vince rolls his eyes, casts his eyes down at the page he’s holding. “Perhaps, however she was predicting the future-- visions or tea leaves or if the wind told her-- maybe her information wasn’t that reliable. Maybe there’s no more of the prophecy because she just didn’t know if you’d make it.” 

Vince considers this, and then in true Noir fashion, snaps the book closed and offers it back to Howard with a shake of his head. “Nah.” 

“No?” 

“No.” Vince smirks at him confidently, sags back into the sofa with his arms crossed over his chest in playful defiance of Howard’s interpretation. “I think my sacrifice was going up there in the first place and she always knew you’d come up to get me. I reckon there’s more to know here.” 

He says it with such certainty that Howard genuinely can’t find it in himself to do anything but believe him. “Alright then, smartarse, where’s this extra information hidden?” 

And without batting an eye, Vince extends one shaking hand to point decisively at the bookshelf. 

Howard gapes at him. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Of course I can.” Vince ambles to his feet, pulls his blanket tightly around himself and wobbles over to the bookshelf. “I reckon everything here is happenin’ for a reason Howard, including you being given all these books.” 

Howard is behind him before he makes the decision to do so, more than anything out of concern of the boy just keeling over where he rocks onto his tiptoes to pluck books from the shelves. “So what do you suggest, we search the entire bookshelf in the hopes there’s an answer?” 

“That’s about the sum of it.” 

And it’s another piece of Vince clawing itself back, he thinks. This unwavering optimism. It leaves even Howard’s pessimistic nature weak in the wake of it; how badly he wants this to be right. And if he is? They’ll have answers. Something to cling to. A lifeline like the original prophecy book had been for Howard after waking alone and changed in this cabin.

It’s not like they’ve got much else to be doing. 

“Alright, where do we start?” 

***

Within an hour they had made it through almost two shelves of the vast bookshelf. Well, Howard had. 

Warmth may have returned to Vince’s existence, and his arm continues to flicker in it’s best attempt to remain alight, but in the end, he still isn’t one hundred per cent. Howard had caught him swaying on his feet while he stood to retrieve another book and ordered him onto the sofa. He’d pouted of course, hoped his childish nature would play into the repressed part of Howard’s psyche that liked to please him but of course; no dice 

Howard had a larger part of himself that apparently got off on being a good caretaker. 

So Vince reclines on the sofa and does his best to stay an active part of their investigation. Howard--dedicated as he is to Vince's happiness--keeps looking on his behalf; sections all of the books off into two piles. The  _ definitely not a prophecy book  _ stack and the  _ potentially a prophecy book but requires further investigation  _ stack. 

“How did you find the first one?” Howard had asked around an hour into the process. 

To which Vince blushed and said, “It sung to me.” 

To his credit, the faun does not look in the least bit surprised by this information; which Vince takes to mean things sometimes sing to Howard too. Whatever it is that lives here. The lingering spirit of his long lost family. 

Glancing between the already large stack of books and Vince. Howard scrubs a hand through his curls, “Can you--” 

“No. Sorry.” 

Howard’s features had twisted in sympathy but he’d gone back to his search, leaving Vince to lament the loss of his connection to the world around him. The worst part by far was it was a tether he had not been overly conscious of until it had left him. 

The singing was a bit glaringly obvious, even an oblivious creature such as Vince had been able to recognise that as a link between himself and this sanctuary--to his mother's magic-- but since the cave? It was like being stranded. Colours seemed a bit duller at the edges and sounds were less clear. Part of this empty feeling was the disconnect. That’s what he’s missing. The intrinsic part of his soul that had belonged here; the bit that knew this was home. That resonated with the creatures and the foliage. That heard music in the wind. 

It had been painfully silent since he’d woken up. 

Perhaps that was why he found himself so insistent that there was something to be found in the first place. Was it to search for answers about their predicament, or was it a way to salvage a lost connection with a long lost family member? 

It was a bit up in the air, if he was totally honest with himself.

All he knew for certain was that he was currently no help, what with his magical-music compass being out of commission for the time being. Otherwise he’d be hovering as close as physically possible to the bookshelf in the hope of getting some direction as to what exactly they’re looking for.

Instead he’s left feebly on the sidelines. Adding unhelpful commentary as the faun bares the brunt of the labour. Vince would feel bad about it but it looks like the anally-retentive nutjob is actually having a swell time of it; sectioning off his reading material with a delighted expression. There's something very loveable about watching him like this, Vince thinks. The domesticity of being snuggled under a plush blanket while someone else moves about in the room with you. The intimacy of Howard having no shame in these parts of himself--the parts that like to organise and tidy. Parts Vince adores just as much as his man of action persona. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise he finds himself dosing off, he’s still working at half capacity and it’s so homely around him. The sound of hooves clipping gently against the wood floor. The fire that Howard had lit some time ago (a habit he was getting into with Vince’s continuing temperature problem) crackles pleasantly. A soothing weight of a blanket over his body. 

He’s got one foot through the door of slumber when he hears it. Spine-chillingly familiar; a gravelly, cockney timbre echoing in his head. 

_ “There’s nothing to find, boy, mummy expected you dead.”  _

Vince shoots awake in a panic; flies to a seated position with one hand to his head and the other fisting into the cushions of the sofa. The sharpness of his movement startles Howard too, the book he'd been peering at crashes to the floor. The faun peers over at him with wide eyes like a spooked deer. “You okay?"

Not entirely sure what to do with his information, how to interpret what just happened, all he can do is nod his head dumbly in reply. His head swims from clambering up so quickly. The arm gripping his head, unbandaged and pale, has stopped glowing completely. Returned to nothing more than a sickly looking shade. 

“Vince?” Vince snaps his head around when Howard’s hand lands on his arm, brown eyes swimming with concern. There's a palm pressing to his forehead, frown heavy on his features. “What’s the matter?” 

“I heard 'im,” Vince rasps, voice rough, feeling for all the world like it doesn’t belong to him. It’s low and harsh and it clearly isn’t in his imagination if the way Howard’s gaze grows wide and panicked is anything to go by. 

He slaps a hand over his mouth; squeaks a noise of utter terror. 

There’s not a thing to be said. Neither of them can find it in themselves to attempt to say anything, even if they had wanted to speak. Howard is much too startled and Vince too afraid what voice will come from him if he does try to give voice to his inner turmoil. They’re left staring at one another in shock, painful, horrific shock. 

It’s the faun that speaks first, tone pathetically hopeful as he asks, “Just a bad dream?” 

“Just a bad dream!” Vince screeches, thankfully in his own natural cadance this time. “Howard he’s here.” 

The urgency that overcomes him in that moment is enough to have him overriding his own weakness and forcing himself to his feet. He’s trying to make a break for the bookshelf, imperative now more than ever he finds the second book he’s sure exists but Howard snags his wrist and pulls him up short. “Vince, calm down.” 

“He’s in my head, Howard, don’t tell me to _ fucking _ \--” Vince rounds on him, intent on delivering more scathing comments and spat declarations of Howard’s idiocy but he’s stopped dead in his tracks. Howard looks horrified. Like he’s back in the cave with a knife at his throat. Vince deflates, chest heaving, and he realises that this isn’t him. 

None of it has been him. 

This negativity he’s been carrying since he’d woken up. The toxicity coursing through his veins. The ugly dark feeling licking along his subconscious and convincing him to slam doors and bark insults.  _ It wasn’t him.  _

“He’s in my head.” He repeats, softer this time. Frightened and small. Howard’s features soften, understanding crossing his face as he no doubt comes to the same conclusion that Vince has just reached. 

Not just missing a piece like he originally thought but rather, having returned with something occupying his internal space that wasn’t there before. Something malicious and hell bent on ruining everything it touches. Destroying the beauty in Vince’s existence one awful thought at a time. 

Outside, rain starts spattering against the window. A weather system in mourning of something being inherently broken within their Fae child. Vince’s missing glow and constantly dwindling temperature suddenly makes sense and it takes everything not to give in to the need to start crying  _ again _ over another hurdle they have to overcome. 

Babu wasn’t dead; he had just relocated.

And he was smothering every last particle of sunshine in Vince’s body. 

If Howard had been out of depth dealing with Vince’s temperature then he was drowning now. Wide eyes and unsure how to help, frozen in place with a hand half outstretched like trying to calm a spooked animal. Vince feels very much the same; praying for a lifeline to be tossed his way from somewhere. 

Nowhere in the prophecy had this been made known as a potential outcome. Nor how they’re supposed to combat it. 

“Howard...” 

No more needs to be said. Howard steps up, slides his arms around the smaller man and Vince sags like the strings of his existence have been cut. A broken doll cradled to the chest of his only friend. 

“We’ll find it,” Howard promises. Despite still not knowing if a second prophecy even exists, the man swears this oath to him. “If it’s here we’ll find it, and it’ll all be okay.” 

Vince believes him. He has to. 

***

It’s late. The sun set hours ago and yet there’s still no sign of them retiring to bed despite the fact Vince’s energy supply is clearly waning. 

Of course, he can completely understand why the fae child was demonstrating a reluctance to attempt sleep. Especially when his last experience with it left them both struggling through the harsh truth that their problems were far from over. But when the trembling was back full force, any hint of a glow gone from his friend’s skin, and he was scrubbing at his eyes like a restless toddler-- then Howard was of the opinion that risking another half-conscious encounter with Babu was a risk they’d have to take. 

Because Vince was going to run himself ragged like this. 

After reassuring him in as many ways as possible that the malevolent voice in his head had no active control over Vince’s actions--apparently only the ability to influence him with dark thoughts and negative feelings--the younger boy had insisted that they keep searching for a potential second prophecy. 

He was pinning all his hopes on the fact one existed. And Howard was doing nothing to dissuade this belief given that it was  _ literally  _ one of the only things Vince was able to get excited about currently. But the more of the bookshelf they made it through with no results the more he was beginning to think they were on a hopeless mission. 

And the fact Babu’s presence was escalating from bad feelings to actively  _ talking  _ to Vince? Not a good sign. Howard would prefer to be focussing on finding a way to exorcise this demon, if it was all the same. 

Vince needs to rest but he can be remarkably stubborn when he wants to be, and so Howard appoints himself as the man in charge of ensuring the poor boy doesn’t keel over where he sits cross legged in front of the fire reading book after book. 

What this translates to is making him cups of tea like clockwork, trying to get heat into him anyway possible. He continues sorting while Vince reads; lips moving silently as he does his best to sound out the words he’s seeing. Everything that Howard knows for sure isn’t prophetic is tucked back on the shelves, and things that he’s unsure about are stacked by the fae child. 

Any time Vince gets frustrated by their lack of progress, mutters curses under his breath and tugs on strands of his own hair hard enough that Howard winces, the faun is by his side. Talking him down with stupid utterances and silly jokes and, if he’s brave enough, gentle touches to his side and shoulders. 

It’s another instance like this he finds himself dropping to sit by Vince’s side. The boy having tossed another book aside with much less respect than Howard thinks any work of literature should be shown. He’s rubbing at his temples, features pinched in annoyance and utterly exhausted at the same time. 

“Okay?” Howard asks, wary now that he isn’t entirely sure which voice is going to be replying to him. Though, thankfully, other than the one slip earlier, the voice change hasn’t occurred since. Vince does nothing but shrug at him, however, his anxious fingers now brushing up and through his hair. Howard presses, curious. “What does he say to you?” 

Casting remorseful eyes up at him, Vince tries once again to shrug him off. “Nothing pleasant.” He sighs. “Insults mainly. An imaginative range of put downs about you--” Howard, perhaps wrongly, finds this information to be quite amusing. “Mostly, though, he’s quiet. I jus’ get this feeling…” 

Howard gives him the best encouraging look he can. “Go on,” 

“Just… hopelessness.” Vince casts his eyes away as he admits it. “Like everything's been scooped out of my insides and left somewhere else and there’s nothing left to…” He's been waving his hands about as he talks but now they flop limply into his sides. “It’s hard to explain.” 

“It’s okay,” Howard smiles at him. “Just… don’t let him get to you okay? We’ll figure this out.” 

Vince manages a small smile at him. The kind of timid thing that reaches right into Howard’s chest and plucks at his heart strings. Then he whispers, so quiet Howard has to strain to hear him. “It’s better when you’re nearby. I feel less… bad.” 

Which, without blowing his own horn too much, actually makes perfect sense to Howard. If an internal Babu Yagu held the same weaknesses as an external one, then Vince’s happiness was a threat to him. And even Howard--despite trying his best to keep himself as far from Vince as possible for fear of influencing his choices--could understand that he was a source of joy for the fae child. 

It’s at this point he resolves to do whatever it takes to keep Vince smiling while they deal with this problem. 

“Come on,” Howard says, gets to his feet and offers a hand for Vince to take. “You’re taking a break.” 

Vince looks between the pile of books and back up to Howard, for a moment it appears like he’s going to argue the point. But Howard raises his eyebrows, makes a grabbing motion with his extended hand, and the boy rightfully decides it isn’t worth his time to argue. He takes Howard’s hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. “What are we going to do?” Vince asks. Howard just grins at him, grabs a throw from the back of the sofa and directs them towards the door. 

Vince makes several questioning noises as Howard swings the door open and, with gentle hands on his person, urges him into the sharp chill of the night air. It had stopped raining some time ago, the wood of Howard’s small porch dry enough for them to sit side by side on the top step; peering out over the darkened patch of grass before them. 

Vince is already shivering, and Howard wastes no time tucking the blanket he had brought over both of their shoulders. Vince turns wide shocked eyes on him; a man being offered something he had so far been denied and wondering what the catch was. 

“You feeling alright, Howard?” Vince teases; his humour a defence mechanism against his uncertainty. “You’re willingly touching me an’ everything.” 

Howard does blush at it being brought to attention so blatantly, but can’t bring himself to tease in reply. He was trying his best to make some sort of declaration of intent here. “You said it helps.” He says. If possible, Vince's eyes widen further. Pink lips part on a shocked inhale. “Can’t have you going mad, can we?” 

There’s something so intense in that unnaturally-blue gaze that Howard can’t look directly at it. Like looking into the sun. He casts his eyes up towards the night sky, and instead jokes “Well.  _ More  _ mad. Not sure you were sane even when I met you.” 

The tension loses some of it’s choking intensity. Vince spills some giggles into the air between them. “Nah, I’ve always been a bit wrong, I 'ave.” 

Howard hums in agreement. Vince is still looking at him, he can feel it. Gaze like a laser pointer blinking in the corners of his vision. If he doesn’t direct his attention soon they’re going to stray into dangerous territory. Casual affection to help fight an internal monster was one thing, allowing himself to become used to Vince’s touch--his looks--was setting him down a path he wouldn’t easily return from. 

“I read a book on astronomy once.” He declares. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yup.” And then, in his best authoritative tone points upwards towards the sky. “See this up here, that’s  _ Ursa Major…  _ I think.” 

Vince‘s laughter is the best music he could have asked for. 

***

Under the stars, shoulder to shoulder, it’s the perfect place to let you guard down. 

Nothing is real for the hours they sit out there. And it must be hours. Vince begins to feel like himself again, tells Howard stories about Jahuli and the adventures they’d go on while Bryan is away. Asks as many ridiculously absurd questions as he can possibly think of. Everything from  _ “Have you ever had fleas?”  _ to  _ “Why exactly do the trees hate you?”.  _ Each received with a bemused expression and answers ranging from sarcastic nonsense to hilarious truths. 

Howard talks to him about the stars and delivers facts about wildlife that Vince sometimes already knows (he  _ is _ friends with animals after all) but pretends to be learning for the first time to allow the faun’s ego a little boost. 

The chill in the air is uncomfortable for an already shivering Vince, but it’s a secondary problem. Especially given the longer they sit out there, the less Howard seems to mind that Vince is cuddling up to his side. Closing inch after inch of space. Invading his territory on a stealth mission until he’s essentially clung to his arm like a demure lady with his roguish husband. 

“We should go to the border,” Vince suggests into the dark, interrupting Howard’s rather fascinating comparison of Avian activity on each side of said border. “See if you can cross it now, if Babu is gone it should be open again, surely?”

There’s a look cast down at him that is nothing short of reprimanding. “The state you’re in? I don’t think so.” 

It says a lot about Vince’s improved mood that he doesn’t take offence to the comment. Nor does he feel anything but amused by the look his friend is giving him. “I’m not completely broken you know, Howard.” 

But those eyebrows just keep climbing in their disbelief. “I’m more concerned  _ you  _ won’t be allowed across the border, Vince.” 

And it was certainly a side effect of his current predicament he hadn’t considered. The border was in place to stop Babu escaping and right now Vince was playing unwilling host to a part--no matter how small it was--of that creature. It’s saddening, obviously, but weirdly the thought that he might not be able to go home wasn’t the thing that upsets him most. No that’s everything to do with the fact Howard’s freedom was dangling tantalisingly close and yet still remains so unobtainable. 

“So we get rid of this freeloader first,  _ then  _ we go to the border.” He declares with overt enthusiasm. 

To his credit, Howard chuckles warmly at him. “Okay, fine. You have yourself a deal, sir.” The man nods with such authority Vince stifles his laughter behind his hand. “I’ll take you to the border as soon as your unpleasant tenant has moved out.” 

There’s a distant ringing in his ears; a screaming, rough sound that would be deeply uncomfortable if the faun’s presence didn’t almost completely drown it out. Babu was still there, but he was locked in a padded box and pushed to the back of the room when Howard was nearby. 

He drops his head against Howard’s shoulder. Swears he sees a star shoot across the sky; that might just be his own imagination impressing his happiness on the world in the form of natural phenomena, though. 

“Don’t fall asleep out here,” Howard warns him gently. “I carried you all the way down from that cave and you’re deceptively heavy,” 

“Oh, piss off.” Vince’s outrage is all put upon, his smirk gives him away. Though the tease steers him to a place conversationally that has him peering his eye up at the other man curiously. “I never did ask, how did you figure out where I’d gone?” 

“You left a necklace behind.” Howard replies, rather casually. “Knew you wouldn’t have been that careless unless you knew there was a chance you'd be back."

Except, Vince is sure he did nothing of the sort. “What necklace?” 

“The blue one.” 

“I don’t have a blue necklace.” 

Howard shifts. Vince sits straight too, they consider each other for just a moment before they’re both scampering to their feet. Howard is slightly ahead of him going back into the cabin, understandable given that Vince is laden down with the blanket and unsteady on his bare feet. He hovers with uncertainty as Howard roots through a satchel he’d been carrying when he had come to Vince’s rescue. 

Eventually, the faun looks up at him with a wide eyes stare of complete and utter disbelief. “It’s not there.” 

For some reason, Vince finds this to be the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. He almost bends double with how he laughs, and Howard, unsure what’s going on but lost the hypnotic melodies of his hilarity--just joins in with him. 

“She did it, she knew you wouldn’t get it on your own!” Vince cries, skipping over to Howard’s side and clutching at his arm like an excited child. “Howard, she knew!”

“Now hang on,” Howard can do nothing more but cling onto Vince in return; he is bouncing on his toes with his joy. “I would have figured it out eventually.” 

“As if! You’re clever, but you’re not  _ that  _ clever.” 

“Well next time, leave a proper note you berk.” 

Too wrapped up in his joy at the reminder of his mother’s influence, Vince doesn’t fall into the trap of the bickering. Instead, he just continues tugging on the faun’s arm. Trying to get through to him how amazing this fact is. Because despite the fact Vince can’t feel it anymore, he’s sure she’s still around. Watching them, helping them. “This is how I know there’s more, she’d never leave us like that!” 

“Okay, alright, little man. I believe you.” Hands cup around his upper arms in an attempt to hold him still but Vince feels like he's vibrating out of his skin. He tries to make his way to the books again, rejuvenated in his need to explore, but he doesn't get far. Howard is tugging him back to his side and employing his serious tone. “Ah, no, you need to sleep. Vince.” 

“I’m not tired.” 

“You are,” Howard doesn’t take no for an answer this time, uses his larger frame to start hauling Vince to bed. Vince's stomach flips at how easily he is man-handled halfway across the cabin; Howard was usually such a docile creature despite his size, that this stance of action was a little enticing. “You’ll be no good at finding anything if you don’t get better.” 

Stumbling along, Vince plants his feet enough to stop them from moving for a moment. Glares defiantly up at the goat man. “You’re coming with me.” He demands. 

To which, smirking, Howard says, “Did I say I wasn’t?” 

At that point Vince agrees to go to bed. 

***

Since beginning to share a bed space with Vince, Howard’s waking up process has been severely compromised. 

Every day since getting trapped here, Howard had been unable to sleep in. His body clock was as much of a punishment as anything else about his existence here; waking him the second the sun began to rise. There was no comfortable process involved either. No gentle re-entering to consciousness. It was a snap and crack. Sleep to awake in the blink of an eye. 

Yet these days, he would blink his eyes open slowly. Ambling into wakefulness with no sense of urgency. 

That is until he clocks onto the fact that the bed beside him was empty. 

Terrified his fae friend had done something silly, like wander off into the woods again, or had in fact lost a fight for control with the being occupying his mental space; he hurries from the bed and into the cabin at large-- only to find the front door open and Vince sat in the faint sun outside. 

There’s no blanket about his shoulders, but he is draped in one of Howard’s large jumpers. On his lap is a book, cradled between his hands is a steaming mug of tea, and he’s humming. The notes curling into the air from his mouth like smoke rings are the same ones they’d sung together in the field all that time ago. 

_ Are we to be married on the morrow, my child?  _

The image of him is religious in its appearance; and Howard had never possessed much blind faith in anything until this whole venture and a vague prophecy was the only thing that kept him going. But Vince is the kind of divine entity Howard would willingly devote the rest of his life to worshipping. Light surrounds him like a halo and casts his relaxed features in delicate shadows. Soft pale skin on show where the neck of the large garment slips off his shoulder. The raven crown of his hair hadn’t been styled properly in days and was a little dishevelled and sleep ruffled but it was charming. It’s awe inspiring.  _ Vince  _ is awe inspiring. 

It’s a view that could move him to tears, if Howard was going to be completely forthright about it. And after the few days he’s had? There is an adequate amount of tension built-up in his mind-tank that there’s the temptation to allow himself that raw emotional release. 

But he can't. There's not time for  _ him _ to be crying when Vince is the one between them who actually deserves such a reaction. Howard’s responsibilities lay in being put-together enough for the both of them. 

Though, a moment to appreciate the sight of Vince like this wasn't going to hurt anyone. Slowly, the adrenaline ebbs from his muscles. Each new line of their shared song that Vince hums is a symphony to soothe his soul. 

When he has suitably collected himself, he takes a step towards the door. 

“You’re up early.” He calls conversationally, Vince is startled enough to whip around where he sits. Which is exactly when Howard notices the rather telling redness to his eyes, the raw state of his cheeks, that indicate recent tears. His heart plummets. “Did he…?”

Vince casts his eyes away, almost as if ashamed, and gives a sharp nod. “Think he’s getting annoyed." As he speaks he ambles to his feet; appears more steady in standing than he had up until now. “All last night my dreams, they were--” He cuts himself off with a shudder. 

“Not good?” Howard says, hoping he conveys his sympathy in the downturn of his mouth. 

“Not good.” The boy agrees. 

Though, despite his melancholy expression, Vince still radiates something like soft happiness. In fact, as Howard shuffles to the kitchen to sort himself his own morning tea, Vince hovers as close to his side as he dares. It’s a habit he foresees becoming common-place, now that they have discovered how proximity works as a form of anaesthetic for Vince’s inner pain. And when the boy offers an empty mug in silent request for his own brew--his hand extended from within oversized jumper sleeves--Howard grins to notice that this closeness is working much better than originally anticipated. 

“Maybe he’s lashing out because you’re beating him.” Howard suggests, stirring as many sugars as he dares into the other’s tea. 

Vince couldn’t look more confused about that statement, though, which means Howard has to be the one to show him how well he’s doing. Taking his progress and demonstrating it. In a replication of their day by the river when Vince’s quirk was first brought to light for the boy. Howard cups his hand delicately and draws it into his line of sight. 

Yesterday Vince’s glowing was secluded to a patch of forearm and faded into his palms. Today the whole hand is alight, along with the rest of his arm. He’s still uneven, but it’s enough progress to convince Howard that they’re on the right track. Reminds him there is an end in sight. 

An awe-filled gasp from the younger man indicates he has found the same reassurance in his shining fingers. He wriggles them, and then turns them in Howard’s grasp to lace their digits together. It’s an action that a few mornings ago, Howard might have balked at. May have even pulled away from and declared it inappropriate. Much too close. Much too intimate. Now however, he doesn’t fight the ball of adoration that pools in his stomach. He doesn’t feel embarrassed by the gentle repetitive  _ thud  _ of his tail where it regularly beats against the kitchen cupboards as he leans against the counter; providing a literal soundtrack to his glee. Rather, he embraces it. 

He tells himself it’s all for Vince, to keep him sunshine filled and able to fight his demons but there’s a voice in the back of his mind calling him a liar. And a bad one at that. 

Vince breaks into giggles, in a bout of confidence--and downright bloody cheeky behaviour--brought on by the ease of contact. Vince reaches behind Howard with his free hand and gives his thrashing tail a playful tug. “I’m going to miss this when it’s gone.” He teases. 

“Hey!” Howard snaps, trying to shift out of Vince’s reach and instead being pulled short by the fact Vince will not let go of Howard’s hand. He finds Vince back in his personal space before long. “We should deal with your possession problem before we start waving goodbye to my appendages.” 

Vince opens his mouth to say something but then seems to think better of it, diverts himself to a different conversational route instead. He leaves the tail in favour of reaching for snatching his tea. “Perhaps we shouldn’t worry so much about Babu,” Vince says. “Maybe he’ll die out in his own time as long as I keep… you know, being happy.” 

Subtlety was not a talent Vince was known for. He may as well be holding up conversational cue cards.  _ Applaud _ .  _ Laugh _ . 

_ Discuss the fact that loving me is clearly the answer here.  _

What a pair they make. Needing each other in the most literal sense of the word, and yet stuck being unable to adequately express it correctly. 

Because it wasn't as if Howard was in denial about the things he was feeling. Well. He was a bit. But it was out of sheer guilt than it was anything else. He didn't  _ not _ want to love Vince. Almost every other thought in his head revolved around this walking sculpture of a man. 

Howard was still trapped in a mindset of moral culpability. Of believing Vince was some sort of innocent soul he was tainting with his affections; the creepy goat man of the woods expecting so much from this enchanting fae child. That and Vince’s (Babu’s) words from the other night still echo in his head whenever he lets himself feel anything close to content.  _ "I’m better than this, I’m better than  _ you _." _ It was difficult to not feel like this entire relationship was being forced on Vince unwillingly; that whatever feelings this boy claims to have are nothing more than illusions brought on by the convenience and sentimentalism of the thing. 

The inherent wonder of the fairy-tale their lives were turning out to be. 

The kind of thing that wears off when they’re no longer in a magic forest surrounded by unnatural beauty and romantic notions like destiny. 

And if this internal turmoil isn't bad enough, those sweet-shop eyes are sparkling at him. The damn _ seductress _ is trying it on. Howard can tell, despite the fact being flirted with is an entirely new feeling for the faun, he isn't dense enough that he would miss such an obvious play. The fingers still intertwined with his give a squeeze. A flush rises on his cheeks, lips part in a sensual smirk. 

_ Bloody minx.  _

Howard clears his throat. "We should probably keep searching for answers." He says, hopes the slight hesitation in his tone isn't too obvious. "Rather than operate on assumption."

For now Howard keeps his goat legs. Vince remains host to a vicious spirit. 

The fae child receives this dismissal surprisingly well, all things considered. Takes it on the chin like a real champ, almost as if he were expecting it. Which more than anything demonstrates that Howard is not the only one learning Vince like the back of his hand. Vince has picked up a trick or two as well. 

The boy takes a step back, though continues holding onto Howard's hand. "What, you thought I'd stop looking for my mum's second book? Daft of you really." 

It's a wonderful out, one Howard accepts with open arms like an old friend. The easy way they have of avoiding a serious topic with gentle humour and quick wit. "You're right. Like a dog with a bone when you get going."

"A detective with a mystery, more like."

"No one would hire you to solve mysteries." Carefully, Howard disengages himself from Vince. Answers the pout he receives with a raised eyebrow and a nod to the fridge--breakfast on the table--at which point Vince decides to simply huddle as close to the faun as is possible while he toasts bread for them. 

He is literally plastered to Howard’s side; scratchy material of his jumper rubbing against Howard's bare skin. 

He has to shake his head free of any thoughts before any kind of conversation can continue. "I see the sun is out today,” He says. Rasps. 

“Oh for god’s sake,” Vince groans dramatically. “Is this what we’re reduced to, talking about the weather?” 

Howard can't help himself but to glance at Vince, his best bewildered expression in place. "Oh, I apologise. Was there a topic more interesting than your  _ magical connection to the weather system,  _ that you'd prefer to talk about?" 

Vince is squinting at him; unsure whether he's supposed to answer that question seriously or accept it for the sarcastic mutter that it is. "We never used to talk like this." He complains. "Where's the spark gone."

"The spark?" Howard barks back, his words interspersed with a breathy barely-there laugh. "Like when we used to talk about shaving my legs?" 

"Exactly." Vince snickers childishly. "The good old days."

"Well,  _ my dear _ ." Howard exaggerates, turns on Vince and reaches out to pinch at his side playfully and then offers him a banana snatched from the fruit bowl. The more fed he is the better; keeps his strength up. "That's what happens when you've been conversationally involved as long as we have."

Vince somehow manages to peel his banana sarcastically. "Ten days _ is _ a long time."

"How will we ever get our spark back?"

Vince pauses enough to consider this, a look of genuine thought passing over his features. Then he's grinning, beaming like a madman. "We need to spice things up, I think." 

Howard only gets a second to worry about what exactly that entails before Vince is loudly asking-- 

"Are the black bits in bananas tarantulas eggs?" 

***

Howard goes for a shower around noon. 

They’d enjoyed their breakfast in the sun soaked living room, basking in the triumph of a potential step forward and the comfortable wrapping of banter. Vince had felt strong enough to help Howard wash dishes, had volunteered in fact--the faun had almost swooned--just so he could remain as close to his furry person as possible. 

Things had begun to feel like normal again as they’d giggled together by the sink. Vince reciting poetically musical nonsense-songs about soap bubbles and water splash wonders.  _ Fairy Liquid fun times!  _ and Howard not hesitating before joining in. The encroaching presence of Babu was becoming a distant memory.

At least it had until they had settled into their new pastime. Scanning through endless books and hanging all their hopes on the precarious nature of a maybe situation. With each book added to their rejection pile, every hour that ticked by with no results, the louder the presence in his head got. Spurred on by Vince’s own feelings of hopelessness and the small yet somehow vast distance between himself and Howard. 

Really, it couldn’t be more than two metres. Howard hovering by the bookshelf and Vince curled up on the floor by the sofa… but it was enough. The gravelly whispers began soon after they began; reiterating how incessantly stupid Vince was to believe there was anything to find. Slinging jibes against Howard’s character like mud against a wall and as much as Vince was loath to admit it; some of it was sticking. 

_ He thinks you’re pathetic.  _ It hissed at him. At the exact same moment Howard had cast a glance in his direction; all righteous-sympathy and patronising-sadness.  _ What a stupid little boy, clinging to the idea of mummy when there’s nothing here to find.  _

Without intending to, he’s glaring daggers at Howard and tossing his book aside with more force than necessary. The faun frowns at him, almost certainly figuring out what is going on here, and rather than engaging in the obvious demand for a spat, turns his back on the fae child and  _ ignores him.  _

There’s nothing worse you can do to Vince Noir than ignore him. 

“Howard,” Vince snaps, and the voice is not remotely  _ his _ , but this time he can’t bring himself to care. He’s drunk on a fury that isn’t his own. Intent on channelling this energy somewhere-- even if he knows Howard doesn’t deserve it. “Look at me.” 

The sigh the faun gives is that of resignation. Aware he knows what he is getting himself in for when he turns and locks eyes with Vince’s snarling form. He appears shockingly brave in the face of it, to his credit, not cowering like he might have days before. “I’m not talking to you when you’re like this, it will only make you worse.” 

“ _ You _ make it worse.” Vince snaps. Though, at this point, it would be vastly misrepresenting the situation to pretend even one ounce of Vince was involved in this argument. He’s becoming an outside observer to his own actions. Aware his body is moving and talking but having no active control to do anything about it. And Howard is right, engaging is only spurring it on. “When you keep looking at me like  _ that _ .” 

Adding to the list of terrible decisions, Howard rolls his eyes. He barely gets his mouth open to try and placate him--to wrestle Vince’s soul back from the edge of this abyss--and Vince’s mouth is snapping. “You know we’re only in this mess because of  _ you.”  _

The faun stiffens. A mixture of upset and agitation blending on his features but he cleverly--and perhaps an incredible demonstration of his determination--does not rise to that attack. Rather continues to play the patient parent to Vince’s bratty toddler. “I think we should take a break, don’t you?” 

“Please stop acting like my fucking father, Howard, you’re not.” Vince utters bitterly, crosses his arms over his chest and continues to squint his features into disgust. “I can look after myself, thanks.” 

At this point, Howard casts his eyes downwards. He huffs a deep breath, one laced with his own sadness, and then exits the room. There’s no explanation for where he’s going or if he intends to come back. The doors don’t slam. There’s no outward display of anything other than a swift exit. 

It isn’t until Vince has been sat on the floor by himself in silence for five minutes that he begins to feel his own consciousness taking control once more. Is left to stew in the destruction that Babu has wrought on his delicate relationship with Howard. 

They were never going to cross that line together if this kept happening, and the prick in his head knew it. 

The shower begins to run in the bathroom, Howard likely using it as a form of distraction. He was like that, the poor man. Had to always be  _ doing  _ something lest he drown in his own thoughts. 

The distance does nothing to help Vince’s predicament. 

_ It’s a miracle he puts up with you.  _ The voice hisses in his head and it takes everything in Vince’s power not to reply to it. He is not so far gone that he will sit and have arguments with himself.  _ Wonder how long before he gives up on you completely.  _

Vince rather thinks Howard might be onto something with his using tasks to distract himself, and so he clambers to his feet. Paces the floor for a few moments in the hopes of tricking himself into feeling busy, while Babu continues on. 

_ Eventually he’ll realise you’re more trouble than you’re worth. _

Ignoring him is getting harder by the second. Vince is learning that. It’s something he had been hesitant to share with Howard that morning, when the faun had found him awake in the early morning. How sleep was becoming too difficult for Vince to face with this new houseguest he was hosting. How the nightmares were intensifying from a smoky creature with red eyes to horrifically vivid images; of death and sadness. Things already present in his own memory but dragged up by the malicious spirit. 

Being raised in the forest was all fun and games until you were forced to face the circle of life startlingly young. Jahuli used to teach him how to hunt. 

When you had things like that rattling around in your mind tank, it only took closing your eyes for something like Babu Yagu to turn them into a feature length film of all your worst fears. So not only was he fighting a battle with a hostile consciousness-- he was  _ tired.  _

Babu was running him into the ground emotionally and mentally... all Vince had full control over right now was his physical body. 

He directs himself towards Howard's writing desk. Flips absently through the pages of his own art the faun had gathered into a neat pile after taking them down, considers rehanging some of them. Some of that bright, easy, personality he’d been those days ago might bleed from the page into them both. Coax them into a sturdy sense of normalcy once more… 

But before he can act on this thought… he loses the fight for his body too. 

The wound on his arm had been healing gradually, slower than it should, that was for certain, but enough that a full bandage was no longer required. Howard now tapes gauze over it and checks on it twice a day; but otherwise, there was progress being made. 

Except now it begins to burn. 

Vince clutches it to his chest, gasps his pain. The feeling spreads, lands somewhere in the region of his chest and then there’s a heavy feeling. Like someone had swung their fist into him. All the wind is knocked from him in a dull throb of pain. His insides are twisting and buching in waves of sharp aches. Vince’s fingers tingle. His heart pounds. There’s a blooming stabbing pain in his temples. 

_ See there’s not a lot I can do in here boy.  _ Babu hisses.  _ Not since you rudely destroyed the rest of me.  _ Something skitters along the skin of his neck like the ghost of a touch, then biting pain like nails against his pulse point.  _ But that’s okay. I may have no hope of getting free but I can certainly make sure you suffer for what you did. _

Vince sinks to his knees in the middle of the living room and sobs. 

***

Spending any length of time more than arm’s reach away from Vince was unhelpful for both of them. Howard knew this. 

Vince needed proximity like a starving man needed an all you can eat buffet; and depriving him of that because of his own weak constitution was unfair and a little bit selfish. Howard was also aware of that.

But he was struggling too. 

No matter how he told himself it wasn’t Vince saying those things--dissecting him with a sharp tongue and sharper disdain--hearing raw abuse seethe from his mouth was a lot to handle. 

And it wasn’t anything Howard hadn’t thought about himself anyway. How often he'd find himself unable to think of anything but how  _ he was at fault. _ Vince would never have been in danger had Howard not made that deal. Vince wouldn't be suffering personality whiplash if he'd protected him better. Vince wouldn't be heartbroken if Howard wasn't such a coward. 

So really, it wasn't so much the intention of the words hurled his way but rather the face that delivered them. Vince was supposed to be different; on a fundamental level he was intended to be a ray of sunshine in among the clouds of Howard’s own moods. That was their modus operandi: two halves of a whole. Howard’s fractured broken demeanor playing off Vince’s innocent candy-floss personality. The glum and the glamour. One person in two bodies. 

When Vince was overcome with this  _ thing _ . Well. It was like two drowning men clinging to each other, weighing one another down with no hope of rescue. If they didn’t figure this out soon then they’d tear each other apart from the inside out. 

The worst part was by far he knew that this is what Babu wanted. 

The bigger the distance between them, the less likely the creature was to be smothered. It was no doubt exactly why he continued to assault the pair of them with his words. Driving that wedge in as far as it would go. 

So yes, Howard feels horrifically guilty about storming from the room and locking himself in the bathroom, but if he hadn’t then he’d have done something he regretted. Like engaged in the argument further. 

Wherever possible it would always be better for him to leave the room than feed the beast currently occupying Vince’s negative brain space. 

He takes his time in the shower. Cleans himself of the stress of their day already, and when he steps free ensures he is adequately towelled dry before he even considers re-entering the living room. He needs all the time he can get to drag his mental defences back in place. The act is more reminiscent of a child placing a mixing bowl on their head and a tea-towel over their shoulders than it was an actual knight putting on armour like he liked to imagine it was. But still. 

When he finds his bravery he returns to the living room to find Vince curled in the middle of the floor; broken sobs leaking from his frame. 

He’s at his side in an instant. 

“Vince?” 

“I’m sorry.” The boy weeps, Howard wastes no time in scoping him off the floor like a limp doll and cradling him to his damp chest. Vince just keeps babbling wetly. “I don’t mean it-- I don’t, he just gets in and sometimes I can’t stop it--” 

“I know, Vince, I know.” He’s brushing sweaty strands of hair from Vince’s forehead. Rocking him like a fussy child. “Shh, I know.” 

“The talking and the nightmares and now-- now--” Vince is sucking in deep lungful's of air, expelling them on harsh cries, tears soaking Howard’s skin. The words can’t come fast enough for how he’s trying to force them out, hiccupping around his sorrow. Fingers cling to Howard's arms like he’s afraid of him winking out of existence any minute. “Now he’s figured out how to  _ hurt _ me and--” 

“He’s hurting you?” Howard doesn’t mean for his tone to harden like it does, Vince flinches under it’s intensity. There’s a weak bob of the boy’s head. “Where?” 

Trembling, Vince first indicates to his wounded arm, then to his chest over his heart, and finally, to his neck and head. He’s peering up at Howard like he has the answers and  _ Christ  _ he wishes he did. If he thought it would help he’d empty every book on his shelf looking for the answers this very instant, but for him they are in this on their own now. Cast adrift and helpless. Vince’s faith was one thing--rather easily captured--but Howard’s? Howard was losing the ability to believe in anything but  _ Vince.  _

“I’m sorry,” Howard mutters in reply, and Vince seems shocked to have heard it. “I shouldn’t have left you.” 

Vince’s reply is cut off by Howard tugging him closer to his chest; freeing one hand enough to touch delicately over rapidly blooming finger-shaped bruises on Vince’s throat. Whatever this entity was doing was real enough to leave physical blemishes on Vince’s skin, which meant it was escalating to dangerous levels and they were  _ still no closer to a solution _ . 

Howard thought he knew what helplessness felt like for those three days he spent by Vince’s bedside, willing him to wake up. As it turns out, that was an incredible underestimation of the thing.  _ This  _ was helplessness. Watching Vince’s body attack itself in the most horrific way and being able to do nothing to stop it. 

The boy is limp enough in his grasp still that when Howard sinks his fingers into his hair and brushes them soothingly over his scalp Vince does nothing but shudder a breath into the crook of his neck. 

Softly, so Howard has to strain to hear him, Vince breathes, “I don’t know how long…” 

How long he can stand it. 

Howard’s insides give a painful clench. It had barely been three days since Vince woke up, and even that was a long time to cope with an extra soul in one's body. Especially when harbouring said soul came with mental torture at every available opportunity. The thought that they still didn’t know how long this was going to go on for makes him nauseous. 

How much resolve does Vince have left? 

How much more can he take?

“I’m  _ so  _ tired. Howard.” He whimpers pathetically. “And I keep hurting  _ you _ , I--” 

“It’s not your fault, Vince. I promise.” 

It’s a weak comfort. One he’d expressed many times already. The boy continues his pitiful little noises, breathing wetly into the crook of Howard’s neck and trembling all over from his emotional outpouring. Howard just holds him. It’s the only thing for certain he knows will help, his arms circle around the smaller boy and keep him close.

It takes some time but Vince’s tears stop; though he thinks this is more because his body physically can't cry anymore even if it wanted to. His heaving chest relaxes into something resembling a normal breathing pattern, his whole frame loses some of it’s tension. 

At this point Howard leverages him gently from the floor. He’s still worryingly pliable in the faun’s arms. Limbs dangling and head lolling. Howard carries him like a swooning bride over to the sofa and settles them in a more comfortable position. Vince remains tucked in his lap, burrows himself impossibly closer to the faun and heaves a deep sigh--not contentment, but close. 

“Your legs are soaking,” He mutters into Howard’s chest feebly, and the faun responds with an equally shaky chuckle. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks. Careful fingers comb through Vince’s unstyled hair. 

“Empty.” 

The answer makes his heart hurt so much that he turns his face and presses a kiss to Vince’s head.

It’s like a switch is flipped; all at once Vince lights up like a Christmas tree. Every inch of his skin glows intensely. Excitement and delight permeate the air. It’s such a shock they both jolt, afraid that they’ve done something wrong. However, upon realising what has happened the pair are powerless to do anything else but giggle their way through the shock. 

“Sorry,” Howard says eventually. “I didn’t mean to--” 

“No it was… Good.” 

They continue to just stare at each other, Howard feels the tension between them pull taut. He swallows thickly. Vince’s gaze darts downward to his mouth. It’s going to happen, Howard certainly isn’t interested in fighting it anymore, he's tilting himself down. Vince tips his head back, eyes half lidded. 

Before a logical conclusion can be reached, Vince is wincing sharply, one hand coming up to his head to cradle it. A fresh whine of discomfort tears free of his throat. 

“Okay?” 

“He clearly isn’t interested in seeing us snog.” Vince says, blunt enough to make Howard blush. 

For some reason it’s exactly that that gives him courage. “He can get stuffed,” Howard snaps, wraps a large hand around Vince’s neck and pulls him up for a kiss. It would have been one of the greatest romantic gestures Howard was ever capable of--had Vince didn’t get three seconds into the embrace and then tear away yelping and clutching at his chest. 

“He  _ definitely _ didn’t like that,” Vince whimpers pitifully. Flattened palm cradled over his own heart and rubbing backwards and forwards in a soothing motion. Howard almost apologises for his part in causing the pain but then, in an act of utter defiance, Vince orders. “Kiss me again.” 

“Demanding.” 

“Just do it.” 

Who was he to say no. Howard does, dips his head and takes his mouth again. It’s different from all the other kisses they’ve so far shared. For one, they’re both active participants in this display. Howard no longer suffocating under the weight of his own fear, he presses himself into Vince’s space, laps his tongue at the other man’s lips. Vince, enthusiastic despite whatever might be going on internally, gasps noises (it is uncertain if they are pleasure or pain) into his mouth. 

It’s amazing. The kind of thing Howard has read about, fireworks. A wonderful whizzbang of connection. Something snaps in the air around them, they both feel it. A jolt of electricity and the sharp burn of a lit match. 

Vince draws back first, a wide grin splitting his kiss reddened lips. 

“What?” Howard asks, his own features mirroring Vince’s joy but still self-conscious enough to be worried he’s being laughed  _ at _ rather than laughed  _ with.  _

Vince sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, stutters through his relieved giggle. “I think he’s gone.” 

“For good?” 

“I think so… “ It’s all disbelief and soft amazement as he breathes the words. Afraid to jinx their success. “It’s gone quiet.  _ Really  _ quiet.” 

The only way to appropriately celebrate is to drag Vince back into his lap and swallow his sweet tasting laughter directly from his mouth. 

***

Surprising no one, it takes a little while for them to move from the sofa. 

There was a lot of built up tension to work out. 

Vince isn’t ready to move away from Howard even when the faun indicates that his legs are going to sleep under Vince’s weight. But once the spell is broken, it’s difficult to recapture that all encompassing passion of the encounter. That, and Howard’s brain starts to catch up with his mouth. 

“I should make you some lunch,” The poor man stutters, flushed cheeks and darting gaze. 

Vince knows a cry for space when he sees it. He shifts himself back off of Howard’s lap easily. “You know, you could let me try to cook something.” 

The relief on Howard’s features at the extended offer of normalcy in among all this  _ romance  _ is as obvious as a candle in the dark. Flickering and bright. He grins at him, gives his waist a little squeeze before shifting him fully out of his space and moving to stand. “I did not go through this whole ordeal for you to kill us in a house fire while trying to make toast.” 

“How dare you, I can feed myself you know.” Vince says, spreading himself about the sofa as Howard struts off. 

Despite how he craved the space; needing to reaffirm himself after putting himself out there in such an intense way, Howard moves about the space of his home now a little differently than he had before. He’s standing a little taller. His stride is a tad more confident. Howard doesn’t glow but his tail must ache with how it sways side to side at knot speed. 

Not that Vince can talk. He’s glowing all over like a fairy light (ironic, he knows) and there’s a delicious fizzing in the pit of his stomach meaning the grin on his face is unlikely to be shifted any time soon. 

“If you want to help you can clean up all these books,” Howard says, casts a glance over his shoulder and Vince witnesses the wonderful moment a smile breaks free on his features without his permission the second he lands his eyes on Vince’s lounging form. It’s like he doesn’t even give himself permission to be that  _ obviously _ happy, but the second they lock gazes, his tail and his mouth betray him. 

A beam and a wriggling appendage and Vince knows how  _ wanted  _ he is--it’s perfect. 

Though. Just because they had crossed one barrier, it did not mean they would magically get over personal hurdles. Howard coming to terms with what they were to one another would not detract from the fact he was still  _ Howard.  _ The man was as calm as a cat in a bathtub when it came to matters like these. If he wanted to cook as a way to keep himself busy; an outward appearance of peace to his inner turmoil no doubt. 

Vince was honestly surprised they’d made it through as much kissing as they had before the faun felt the need to frantically remind himself that everything was  _ normal  _ and  _ nothing had changed _ \-- the world wasn’t going to collapse because he’d let himself give in to how he was feeling. 

“You won't let me cook but you want me to put your books away?” The meaning of which is lost on Howard until Vince elaborates. “When I’ll just stick them on the shelves wherever I can fit ‘em?” 

The idea of an unorganised bookshelf almost-- _ almost-- _ has Howard changing his mind. But as a testament to how content he’s feeling in himself at the moment. He takes two deep breaths and then says. “That’s fine.”

He only sounds a little strained. 

Well. Vince is more than happy to do  _ something  _ with all this energy he’s harbouring right now. He’d have preferred to spend it snuggled against Howard’s side but if tidying up puts him one step closer to that end goal he’ll go about it with as much enthusiasm as a person like Vince can muster for a task like cleaning. 

And as he scoops up book after book, humming a shared song under his breath, he can’t even find it in himself to feel down about being wrong. Perhaps this whole time there had never been a second prophecy, and Vince was pinning his misguided hopes on a daydream. The whole time he hadn’t needed more writing from long lost family members, he’s just needed Howard. 

What a bloody romantic notion. 

Scooping up three books at a time and slotting them on the shelves reveals a little book he doesn’t remember seeing before. It’s about the same size as the prophecy book, perhaps a fraction smaller. The cover is worn, pastels blue, with one word curled across the front in delicate script. The same kind penned in the original prophecy. 

“Howard?” Vince calls, holding the little book in his hands carefully. The faun hums at him from across the cabin, an indication he’s listening. “What does  _ serendipity _ mean?” 

“Uh,” There’s a pause, Howard towelling his hands free of whatever he’s making. Vince wasn’t paying that much attention but it smelled good. “Something happening by chance but it’s a good thing. Happy accidents and all that… Why?” 

“There’s a book here.” Vince turns, smiles at Howard where he has come to hover over his shoulder and peer down at the little book. “Just says  _ Serendipity.  _ Didn’t notice it before, did you?” 

“No.” Howard shrugs it off though, rather, places his hands on Vince’s upper arms and gives him an encouraging tug. “Come on, dinner’s ready.” 

Vince sets the book aside in favour of Howard’s food. He can read it later. 

***

When they retire to bed together that night, there is something wonderfully different and yet, comfortably the same. 

There’s a familiarity to their movements already. Vince starts removing the extra sheets now that they don’t need them for his warmth. Howard touches gently at his waist with a confidence that only comes with the late hour and gentle silence of the bedroom; forging their own little world together under the cover of nightfall. It’s brilliant. It’s the kind of thing Howard could experience for the rest of his life. 

When they slide beneath the sheets Howard is already waiting with open arms for Vince to move over and cling to him like the octopus he is. Desperate for as much contact he can physically get away with. 

“We should go to the border tomorrow,” Vince utters into the dimly lit room. The light being Vince himself; shining outwards. He hasn’t stopped since the sofa, actually, and it’s magnificent. 

“Really?” He asks, tone conveying his confusion enough that Vince peeks up at him from under his fringe. 

“You don’t want to?” 

It’s awkward to try and shrug with Vince’s head pillowed on him as it is, but he thinks the half jerked gesture conveys his meaning well enough. “I’m still half goat, Vince. I’m not sure I belong out there just yet.” 

“Howard,” Vince sounds so astounded to hear this. He presses himself up. Rests his weight on his hands so he can peer down at him in a way that makes Howard feel five years old again. Being scolded for biting his cousin. “Howard, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You belong anywhere you want to be.” He opens his mouth to argue but the fae child barrels on. “I don’t care if you had two heads. Or hooks for hands. You deserve to go  _ home  _ Howard.” 

It's the same ruthless optimism Howard had grown used to from Vince. The die hard belief that the world would just shape itself around them for their continued serenity, no matter how much evidence they had to the contrary. 

“Besides,” Vince adds. “Anyone says anything I’ll kick their heads in.” 

And  _ that _ , Howard could believe. 

He chuckles up at the boy and, wanting to share in his delight, Vince dips his head and kisses him. When they settle once more, both on their backs and shoulder to shoulder--Vince playing with Howard’s hands and casting shadows in his own light--Howard finds the courage to ask, “Do you really think Babu is gone?” 

Vince’s glow flickers. The briefest of things, and then he nods. “Yeah. He must be. No way he’d leave us a whole day being this happy would he?” 

Howard supposes he’s right. There was a lot indicating that he had in fact died out; the glowing and the warmth. The lack of any voice changing or personal attacks from Vince himself. But there was a niggling in the back of his head, something telling him to be on the lookout. 

“What are you thinking?” Vince asks carefully; wary of the response. 

“Feels too easy.” 

And despite the rather morbid tone Howard had taken, Vince only snorts humorously up at him. “Easy?” He calls, disbelief evident. “‘Oward getting you to relax into this--” He waves their joint hands around to demonstrate the point. “Was not  _ easy _ . Believe me.” 

For that, he reaches down to pinch at Vince’s sides. Allows himself to get wrapped up in his high pitched squeals and lovely pretty giggles that he forgets to be worried. He avoids the discussion of why it took him so long to come around. Generally, ignores anything that isn’t the walking ethereal beauty of Vince Noir. 

It was all going to be okay. 

***

Falling asleep was easy for Vince that night. 

Slipping under the waves of his exhaustion with no fight. He wasn’t scared, or worried, or even the tiniest bit apprehensive. There were no thoughts in his head whatsoever except those of  _ his _ Howard. 

The grin that was much too canine for the rest of his goatly features. His big hands and his wispy curls. How his nose scrunched up. His  _ adorable little tail.  _ He'd asked before they slept if it was uncomfortable for him. While they kissed and cuddled and joked, to be laying on top of something that was trying it's best to wriggle free, and Howard had said it was a little. Typically he’d sleep on his side so it wasn’t getting squished, but was reluctant to move from their snuggled positions. 

It's no surprise that that's where he lands in his sleep. Beside Howard. Except they're somewhere modern. Not a log cabin in the woods but a flat. There's the sound of traffic outside and when he shifts Howards bare legs brush up against him. Human legs. 

"We're going to be late." Dream Howard tells him. Mumbling sleepily into a pillow but gazing at him with such overwhelming devotion that Vince could care less about being late for  _ anything. _

"Then let us be late." Vince replies softly. He has no idea where they’re meant to be going, but he knows there is nothing on this earth--real or dreamt up--that would ever make him want to leave the serenity they’d found between their shared sheets. 

The scene changes. Vince is spread on a sofa, not Howard's, a new one. In  _ their _ flat. He's flicking through a magazine and watching Howard read a book in an armchair adjacent. "We should go out tonight." Vince says. 

Dream Howard lifts his head and beams at him. "Dinner?"

"Drinks." Vince corrects him with a smirk. 

"Get ready then, I'll put  _ Colobos  _ on to tape." 

Except when dream Vince stands to move--lethargic and blurred around the edges as you are in dreams--everything dims. Lights flicker around him. Howard vanishes into thin air; the colourful walls of a dreamt up flat contort and twist around him. It all leaves a horrific colourless place… Like a cave. 

_ "Seems like it's jus' you and me now, boy." _

***

Howard wakes to screams.

Raw, blood curdling screams. The kind that speaks to truly horrible things being done to a person; it’s loud and painful to hear and when Howard shoots up Vince has his eyes squeezed shut and he’s curling in on himself like he’s trying to protect himself from blows that aren’t happening. 

It’s not a nightmare. Without taking a longer than a second to take in the sight of his--whatever Vince is to him now--writhing about the bed, tears spilling across his cheeks, and his mouth moving in silent pleas and pathetic whimpers. He knows it's not a nightmare. 

Something has crashed it’s way back into Vince’s subconscious and was wreaking horrific revenge. 

“Vince?” It’s a stupid thing really, to think he’d be able to wake him with gentle calls of his name. When Howard reaches to try and comfort with his touch Vince flinches away, yelping like he’s been burned. 

“ _ Please, please, please.”  _ Falls from his mouth. It’s the youngest he’s ever sounded. A terrified child, lost in the abyss of his own mind and unable to find his way back. Alone. Scared. Helpless. 

Howard tries again, not really sure what he can do to help other than try to reach him in this place he has gone without him. He presses close, snagging the boy around the waist to keep him from tumbling from the bed when he attempts to get away-- so aggressively he nearly goes tumbling. With his face pressed into his hair… he talks. 

“Come back to me,” He pleads gently, stomach twisting with every cry and hoarse gasp wrenched from Vince’s throat. Each new sound becomes even more raw and pained as time ticks on. “Don’t go, who’s going to make fun of my music taste or call me an idiot?” Humour definitely wasn’t appropriate, but to Howard and Vince it was a language. And it was easier to laugh than it was to admit he was verging on tears. “I don’t know how to help you, I don’t know what you need.” 

Vince’s whole body tenses, twists in Howard’s arms and then sags again. There’s still no hint he can even  _ hear  _ him. 

“I love you so much,” Howard tries. This time unsure if he’s trying to help him or simply confessing what he was too afraid to say in case they don’t get another chance. He’s brushing gentle fingers over Vince’s forehead. Keeping his sweat soaked hair from his eyes, the arm around his waist tugs him ever closer. “You're so kind and strong and…  _ utterly  _ insane. I have no idea how someone as oblivious--and frankly a little bit stupid--as you could possibly be so inspiring but you are. You’re everything I’m not, Vince, but I think that’s the point- isn’t it. I’m only half a person without you, please don’t leave me. You can beat him, I know you can.” 

There’s a moment, a brief second, where Howard thinks maybe he’s helped. The noises stop, Vince’s whole body tense but still. Nothing moves. There’s not a sound in the room but the boy’s exerted breathing. 

With a strained gasp, he sags. 

His skin grows pale. To touch him there’s no warmth. His chest isn’t moving. 

A sob wrenches from Howard’s throat. “Oh, fuck.” He curses, shifts the limp body in his grip as he sits up properly, drags the boy to his chest and brushes careful fingers at his cold cheeks. “Don’t be, you’re not. Please, Vince, don’t do this. Please don’t be gone.” 

Nothing. 

It’s a hopeless thing when he presses his lips to Vince’s forehead. His cheeks. His lips. Salty tears tainting the taste of his skin. “I love you,” 

Howard isn’t sure how long he’s there, hanging on to Vince’s lifeless form. Tears dripping onto his pale skin. Hands caressing over him like he might be able to will animation back into his shape. 

It’s surely much too long for them to come back from this. 

He’s about given up. Admitted that he’s gone. That he has done nothing but sat by helplessly while Vince lost a battle with  _ Howard’s _ demons. 

Beneath Howard’s palms is where it starts. 

One cradles Vince's ribs as he holds him close and the other is planted on his cheek. Gentle glowing begins, but this time, the shade of it is not Vince’s usual sunshine gold. This is a pale blue; the same that had followed him around in the woods that night. The same colour Vince had claimed to see in the cave.  _ The colour of his eyes _ . It spreads carefully, licking over Vince’s prone form, circling them both, and when it fades, Vince’s chest heaves with a deep sigh. 

The sigh of someone waking from a long sleep. 

Howard chokes on his sob. Hauls the boy up to bury his nose in his hair and cry his utter relief that there’s colour returning to his skin and air in his lungs once more. 

The boy isn’t coherent, he’s heaving deep lungful's of air, frame shuddering through his recovery, but his eyes are closed still. Howard has a moment to pull himself together; to reign in the shards of his grief before anyone can witness it. 

Well. There’s someone else here to see it. 

The strummed chords of a song on the wind, blue mist dissipates in the air. And as Vince settles, content as a napping cat--almost as if he had no idea what he’d just been through--against him. Howard thinks this might just be a goodbye from someone who had been watching over them this whole time. 

That last bit of true magic, waiting all this time to protect her first born from harm. 

Blue light gone; spread back into the air. Vince’s misty,  _ confused, _ blue eyes blink up towards him. 

***

Howard refuses to let himself be comforted in the aftermath of their  _ second  _ ordeal. 

Instead, despite it being early hours of the morning, he insists on making them tea; swaddling Vince in blankets once more to rid him of his lingering chill, and pressing wet kisses on his forehead and cheeks every opportunity he gets. 

Vince understands, again, he knows Howard uses actions to distract himself from things that frighten him. Things too big to fit inside small words. Like witnessing your new partner go through a near death experience. 

But as far as Vince was concerned, despite living through the rather unpleasant experience of Babu’s attempt on his life, Howard was the one who should be getting hugs and kisses and soft blanketed affection right now. The faun was as pale as Vince had ever seen him, and that wasn’t even mentioning his red cheeks and misty eyes. Howard had been sobbing--and Vince had heard him. Every word while Babu had backed him into a corner in his own mind and proceeded to try and tear him apart from the inside out. 

It had been horrible. Painful. But if Vince had been on the outside? He’s fairly sure whatever Howard had been going through on his end was pretty bad too.

“Feeling okay?” Howard asks for the hundredth time; ignoring how his own large hands shake and his voice is rough with the after effect of his cries. 

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ Vince insists. “Howard, are  _ you  _ alright--and don’t say you are!” The faun’s jaw clicks shut on his denial. “I’m not going to laugh at you Howard, or judge you… You don’t always have to take care of me, you know. We’re in this together yeah?” 

Carefully, like he’s still afraid of what response he will get, Howard nods his head. 

It’s still another few minutes before he says anything. His eyes shining with a resurgence of tears, glancing away periodically like he can’t stand to look at Vince while he forms the words. 

“I couldn’t help you,” He says, shrugs as if it was no big deal despite the fact it was clearly eating him up inside. “I’m sorry, Vince, I tried--” 

“I know you did.” Vince doesn’t hesitate to insinuate himself into Howard’s space. Presses himself to Howard’s side and drags the man down so that his curly haired head is dropped to Vince’s shoulder. He combs fingers through his hair and presses kisses to the base of his little rams horns. “I could hear you, I know you tried.” 

A little whimper, the most pathetic of noises, spills from between Howard’s lips. “I didn’t know what else to do, I was useless.” 

“You weren’t,” Vince tucked his nose into those curls. “You made it bearable, I could hear you saying all those amazing things and I felt… okay. You’re never useless Howard, I wish I could make you believe that.” 

Howard peers up at him; small and vulnerable. The closest Vince has ever seen him to just letting himself go emotionally. Howard was always so put together, trying his best to be the authority figure between them. The responsible one. Assumed because he was older it was his duty to protect and care for Vince. 

Vince wants to take care of him for a change. 

He dips his head to brush his thumb over his cheekbone and press a kiss to his forehead while he utters. "I love you, Howard. Let me look after you."

For the first time since they met, Howard lets himself go. He doesn’t try to keep it all under a mask of stoicism. He cries into Vince’s shoulder. 

They remain like that into the night. Vince whispering his adoration into his hair and holding him. 

***

Waking the next morning Howard feels refreshed. 

There's no distinct memory of him drifting off, but he wakes up on his side with Vince cuddled to his back; face pressed between his shoulder blades. The boy is quite clearly still asleep, gentle puffs of breath hitting his skin. 

He rolls over, Vince wrinkling his nose at being disturbed but remaining asleep beside him. Raven hair is spread about him on the pillow like a halo, his thumb settled between his lips and it’s the sweetest sight to witness first thing in the morning. 

There’s a residual nag in his head informing him he should make them breakfast. They've earned breakfast in bed after the night they had for sure. He could go all out. Fruit. Eggs. Tea and toast. A spread to reward the pair of them for coming out the other side of a frankly horrific experience.

And then they can spend the rest of the day in bed. Reaffirming this delicate thing between them. Vince deserves every ounce of devotion Howard has it in him to give. 

Vince deserves the whole world. 

Howard can't help but grin to himself to remember the man's gentle words and loving caresses all through Howard's minor breakdown. Comforting him, offering to cradle that delicate vulnerable part of Howard that people so rarely got to see and treat it like it was something beautiful. 

Vince loved him. Actually  _ loved _ him. Every single part of him. From his goats legs to his insecurities to his horrible taste in music. And he'd told him so in as much detail as Vince could manage. Had cupped his face and kissed away his tears, brushed careful fingers through his fur and teasingly pinched his tail. 

_ “There’s not a part of you I don’t love, Howard. Even if you are the most frustrating man I’ve ever met.” _

It’s a very real problem that there might not be enough words in the English language for Howard to express how much he adores this ridiculous fae child that is sleeping beside him, sucking on his thumb like a toddler. Nor enough food in his little cabin to make him the kind of extravagant meal he deserves. But he has to try. 

Except when he slides delicately from his sheets, rubs his hands at his eyes to wake himself up and rocks his weight forward onto his feet. He realises something is amiss. He can feel the cool wood against his feet.  _ Feet.  _ Wriggling his toes against the floor, he lets out a startled yelp. Though, trying to dart to a standing position is not the smartest move he has ever made. Blankets catch around his legs-- _ actual human legs!-- _ and he isn’t used to distributing his weight properly on these pins; he trips right onto his arse with a painful crash. 

Vince shoots up straight in bed with a cry of, "What?" 

“Vince!” Howard exclaims excitedly. When Vince crawls to the edge of the bed to peer down at him he lifts one foot into the air. He feels delirious with it. Drunk on his delight. He is  _ euphoric _ . The feeling is not lost on Vince either, who darts his gaze from the extended foot up to Howard’s face with an equal expression of joy. 

Except, that laser focus gaze takes only a minute to find something new to look at. “Howard you’re  _ naked! _ ” 

It’s at least a demonstration of the fae child being back to his usual self; he rolls about the bed in immature but melodic cackles. Finding something overtly amusing in Howard’s state of undress. Howard’s already reaching for the discarded sheet to wrap around himself as the boy get’s over his hilarity. 

"Alright," He grumbles. "Kind of ruining my moment, here, Vince." Though there's a smirk on his features too. It's impossible to be angry on a morning like this. 

Still giggling, Vince slides from the bed, skips around to Howard's side and offers a hand to help him up. Howard accepts, holds the sheet around his naked self with one hand while the other is gripped in Vince's smaller hand and he is yanked to his feet. 

It's different. The centre of balance is all off with big feet rather than the smaller shape of hooves. It takes him a second to stop wobbling like a newborn deer, but Vince is at his side the entire time acting as a deceptively strong support post. 

"How does it feel?" The boy asks, golden glowing arms encircled around him.

"Cold." He replies, snickers down at him. "Strange, but good. I forgot what it was like to have toes."

That makes Vince giggle too, "What are you going to wear? Do you have any trousers."

No. At least, he didn't the last time he looked but he wouldn't put it past Vince's mum to pull one last miracle before she'd said her spiritual farewells. 

"I bet I have something." He grins. 

*******

“It's like watching Bambi learning to walk." Vince teases. 

Howard casts a sharp glare at him from his position by the counter. Despite still getting used to human legs again, and therefore wobbling like a jenga tower with a block missing, he had still insisted that Vince be allowed nowhere near any of the cooking apparatuses. 

"Don't look at me like that, I offered to help!" Vince rolls his eyes, though Howard's amusement at the situation is palpable. He stumbles over his own feet reaching for the kettle and Vince crackles. "Is it really that different?" 

"My weight’s distributing differently," Howard explains, though Vince isn't entirely certain what that means, really. "I'm not used to planting my feet, I'm used to hooves--they don't work the same."

"Were you like this when you first got your goat legs?" Howard blushes, averts his gaze... It’s enough of an answer for Vince. "That's adorable."

"Shut up and set the table, you berk."

Vince does, reaching past Howard to grab the teapot he'd made and presses a kiss to his cheek in passing. It's nice that he's allowed to do that now, dish out affection at any turn. Howard still averts his eyes and blushes like he doesn't know how to process it, sometimes he stiffens, but he never brushes him off. 

It's during his table setting duties that he rediscovers the book.  _ Serendipity _ . Staring up at him from the middle of the table. Innocently perched right in his line of sight despite the fact he had not left it there. 

"Howard, did you put this here?" 

The man appears at his side, setting food down before he stumbles over himself and inevitably drops it, shaking his head. "No."

Vince meets his eyes with a grin, dragging reverent fingers over the cover. Vince didn't have to say what he was thinking, Howard no doubt already knew. The way his smile softened at the edges says as much. 

"I think she was there last night, when you…" Howard clears his throat, Vince doesn't need him to elaborate. 

And to Vince, this makes perfect sense without the added reasoning from Howard anyway. If their joint theory was correct and some element of his mother had been lingering around like Babu's spirit. Then of course she'd have shown up in their moment of need. 

"I have to read this."

And Howard doesn't argue. He pulls a chair out for him, and while Vince flips open the cover there is tea poured and toast buttered and all placed in front of him. 

It starts, 

_ Vince,  _

_ I can safely assume that your discovery of this book means that your trial has reached its conclusion, and you are seeking explanations.  _

Vince looks to Howard, despite the man not knowing what he is reading nor holding any of the answers. It's almost a comfort movement at this point. Check Howard's still there. Check again. Ensure he's safe. Comfortable. Happy. All the ex-faun does is smile encouragingly at him. He reads on. 

_ I wish I could have been by your side to offer you more guidance than I was able. The book was never intended as a set of instructions, but instead a mere nudge in the right direction. Because the truth, my love, is that nothing is ever set in stone.  _

_ It was never my intention to be vague in my assistance, but rather, to leave you to a path of your own making.  _

_ Every choice you have made in this journey has been yours, Vince, know that. Do not do yourself the disservice of believing you were only following a path predetermined for you. You were not.  _

_ You and your friend were not brought together by fate or design, but by your own choices. _

_ It is a serendipitous journey, this one of yours my dear. Cherish that.  _

_ Forever in my heart,  _

_ Your mother  _

The rest of the pages are blank. 

Vince flips through them all, just to check, just in case there was some kind of extra instruction or missing note he may have missed. But there is nothing. Then, lifting his head to meet the inquisitive eyes of his new partner. He's waiting patiently for answers it seems. 

"It's us."

Howard glances at the book, back to Vince. "What is?" 

"All of it.” Vince’s fingers are brushing over the pages of his mother’s words over and over again. Like an action of comfort. “The whole story, the prophecy--fighting babu and everything--it was always about us."

"I don't understand."

Neither does Vince, really, but he tries his best to articulate the same sentiment his mother passed onto him. "The prophecy was vague because it was always about the choices we made, not the outcome."

Howard frowns at him, the apple he had been about to take a bite from is lowered back to the table. "So none of it was certain?" 

Vince shakes his head. Overcome with the possibility that he’d not have any of this. "I might never have arrived."

Howard’s mind is on a different path they could have taken. "You might never have risked your life like the idiot you are."

"Hey!” Vince snickers though, does not take offence to how Howard’s care for him manifests in gentle insults. “I  _ chose _ to risk my life for  _ you _ ; surely that makes it all the more brave?" 

Across the table, Howard chuckles. "It makes it all the more daft."

Vince drops his head into his palm, squints his eyes over at his new partner with amusement. Despite the fact so much had changed about Howard he was still inherently the same. His legs were gone. Vince would forever lament the loss of that gorgeous little tail, let it be known. Even the little curled horns on his head; no longer there. Instead replaced with more luscious curls. But he was still the same, tall, awkward shape of a man. 

A little rough around the edges but exactly what Vince wanted. 

"Well it's my job to get you out of trouble,” And he may deliver it a little more sincerely than originally intended. Easily resolved with a gentle kick to Howard’s bare legs and Vince’s tongue poking out between his lips. “I've solved  _ two  _ of your problems since being here. When exactly are you going to make a choice for me."

Howard just rolls his eyes at him, reaches a hand out for the book. Vince places it in his open palm, busies himself picking half-heartedly at his breakfast while Howard’s more educated brown eyes flick over the short note; reading a lot faster than Vince did. 

"Serendipity." He mutters to himself. Only for Vince to cock his head to the side and repeat a questioning noise. "Happy accidents. I was right at least then, she likely didn't know what was going to happen to you after the cave after all. No second prophecy."

"That's the bit you focus on?" Vince giggles. "The bit where you were right, not the part where your whole white knight act was totally uncalled for."

"Well-"

"All that time wasted." Vince sighs dramatically, twirls a lock of hair in his fingers. “We could have avoided so much bother if you’d just snogged me that first night.” 

Howard chokes on his tea. “The first night!?” 

It’s a  _ choice  _ to widen his eyes and blink innocently over at Howard. “As if you didn’t fancy me immediately.” 

Howard doesn’t actually get a chance to add anymore comment to that. He’s too busy sputtering over the sheer audacity of what Vince has suggested. Though, the flush on his cheeks is not a denial. It’s rather making Vince’s point for him. 

It’s adorable. Vince reaches out to nudge his hand against Howard’s until he gets their fingers interlocked on the surface of the table. “Will you at least believe I wasn’t  _ just  _ following a prophecy this whole time?” 

"Weren’t you? You followed it right into a fight." The ‘ _ like an idiot _ ’ isn’t said, but Vince can see it sparkling in Howard’s eyes. 

"Is this gonna be the argument we have for the rest of our lives?" Vince grumbles. 

"Hopefully." As he says it, the other man continues to flush a delicious pink colour. Casts his eyes to the side and tried his best to maintain courage behind his words. 

Vince brings Howard's hand to his lips to drop a kiss there. "Let's go to the border today.” He utters softy. 

And the offer is more than it sounds. 

It’s not so much, let’s go to the border, it’s a little more  _ let’s go home.  _

Howard gives his hand a little squeeze, there’s something blooming in the air. Vince can feel it against his skin. It’s change. The good kind. Taking him by the hand and promising him the world.. And he’s ready for it. “Come to the border with me, Howard.” 

“Okay.” 

***

Howard does not take to change easily. 

Vince is a mouldable creature. He flits about from fashion to interest easily; he enjoys the transformation of a thing. Being able to select things he likes about the world around him and reflect them back out like a mirror. Nothing is too drastic a change for Vince. He stumbled into this woods and took it in his stride no problem. Howard had goat legs and it did nothing to dissuade the boy from befriending him. Fighting monsters and spiritual apparitions of a mother he didn’t know he’d ever had? Sure. Bring it on. 

Howard does not take to change easily. At all. 

Convincing him to leave the cabin is a feat. Despite the fact Howard has agreed to go with him, after they finish their breakfast and begin to tidy up, it seems to set in for him that he’s leaving the place he calls home after five long years of existing here. 

They can’t pack up and go like anyone else moving home--Howard has to face the very real process of siphoning off things of great importance and deciding to take them with him to a new life. An old life? They haven’t decided what is going to happen once they cross the border either. Which is another great source of anxiety for the poor man. 

But, together, they deal with it. 

Vince learns how to put his foot down with the older man; for once being the responsible one between them and instructing him he cannot carry fifteen books over the border when he can get books in the real world too. But also encouraging him to take his journals, because, if nothing else, Vince would like to read them one day. 

They gather Vince’s clothes, Howard’s journals, the drawings and artworks Vince had made them. And by the time the sun starts to set in the distance, they finally leave the cabin. 

Vince is carrying his  _ Serendipity  _ book to his chest, one hand linked with Howard’s as they walk. They each carry a bag over their shoulders; Howard’s guitar in his free hand too. 

Though--once again--the fear of the change stalls Howard when they reach the divide between the two worlds. Vince charges forward but finds Howard pulling taut on their joined hands; planting his feet and refusing to go any further. 

He turns, Howard’s eyes are as wide as they can get. Panicked and shifting from place to place. “Howard?” He asks, approaches him carefully. “Are you okay?”

The older man doesn’t answer. His breath is coming a little heavier than normal. He’s chewing on his lip anxiously. Vince presses again, “Talk to me, big man, what’s going on?” 

Those brown eyes snap to him, like he’d forgotten Vince was even there. “What if I do it wrong?” 

He doesn’t mean to laugh, really he doesn’t, but a small snicker breaks from him. “Howard you can’t do it wrong. Just walk through.” 

“Not that,” The man rolls his eyes, tugs Vince closer so he can hug him to his chest and not look him in the eye as he expresses himself honestly. It’s a quirk Vince is going to have to work on, but for now, he can allow it. “I haven’t been anything but a lonely goat man for years Vince, and I was never that good at real life even before that.” 

Which, he supposes, yes. Howard came here feeling like a failure, and spent the ensuing five years feeding into that vicious self-loathing. Getting him out of that mindset was ot going to be fixed overnight because they were a couple now. It was going to take a lot of love, and attention, and constant reassurance. 

Luckily, it was a job Vince was more than happy to undertake. 

“Well, those times you didn’t have me.” Vince declares. Humorous enough that Howard’s shoulders drop and a chuckle spills from his mouth. And then, Vince can layer the sincerity on top like the icing on the cake. “And it doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not… Because I’m not very good either. I’ve never lived in the real world, Howard, only in a different type of woods to you.” 

After  a moment, Howard concedes the point. “True.” 

“So,” Vince draws back, enough to look Howard in the eye. “Why don’t we make our own world to live in, yeah? Like this place? A haven inside dull real life just for us… okay?” 

Howard smiles down at him; so much adoration in his eyes Vince has no other choice but to rock up onto his toes and peck his lips. Howard brings his hand up to cup at his cheek, drags reverent fingers over his jaw and steals a second, then third, kiss. “I love you,” He says against his lips. 

“Love you too.” 

And this time, when Vince rocks back onto his feet, he takes Howard’s hand and slowly backs them up towards the border line. 

With a deep breath, closing his eyes to accept the change… They cross the threshold together. 

END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Both for how long this ending took and for the things I put these poor boys through. 
> 
> Alas, we have reached the end of our tale. An epilogue to follow, and then I will leave these boys in peace to live out the rest of their lives together. 
> 
> As ever, I can be found on tumblr:
> 
> @queen-boo / @anciientboosh


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending after the ending.

“Vince, we’re going to be late!” 

Almost as soon as he’s said it the younger boy has appeared in the doorway, hair sticking up in all directions and a sheet wrapped about his pale body. Though, he’s grinning like an utter loon at him. 

“What?” Howard asks, and the boy just continues grinning at him. 

“What did you say?” 

“I said we’re going to be late.” 

For whatever reason, this is the best thing Vince has heard. He shuffles up to Howard’s side in the small kitchenette of their flat, loops his arms about his neck and rocks himself onto his toes to deliver an affectionate peck. 

“Then let us be late.” Vince whispers into the space between their mouths. 

It holds some meaning, Howard understands that, but he isn’t quite sure what it might be. It’s not a completely uncommon experience for them. Ever since leaving the forest, Howard had learnt that it didn’t take a magical world in order for Vince to find joy in it. Even as they had ventured into real life together--with Bryan’s help--finding jobs and a place to call their own. As they had passed anniversaries and birthdays and Christmases. Howard had continued to be in awe of Vince’s ability to experience wonder in the small things. 

If Howard scolding him for being late made Vince happy, who was he to stop that? 

Though, he only allows Vince to bask in it for a few moments before he’s pressing at his waist. “Go and get dressed,” He orders gently. “Or we’ll get sacked.” 

“Nah,” Vince pokes his tongue out, but he does shuffle back through to the bedroom. “Fossil likes me too much for that!” Comes called from the other room. 

Their flat wasn’t big by any stretch of the word. Small bedroom and a barely there living room, but it was theirs. The bookshelf in the corner was stacked with Howard’s rapidly growing literature collection-- _ Serendipity _ held pride of place--and there was Vince’s art, both old and new, adorning the walls. A guitar in the corner. A uniform hung over the back of a chair. A pressed blue daisy on a side table. A collection of CD’s and Jazz records intermixed. Signs of an old life and a new one blending wonderfully. 

Howard promised every day they would find somewhere bigger, eventually. One day. But right now their jobs were not that well paid and in the end, Vince always claimed anywhere by Howard’s side was where he wanted to be. 

“But Fossil  _ doesn’t  _ like me.” Howard replies, stacking sandwiches and snacks into a bag ready for their day. “And if I lose my job, you’d do something daft like quit in solidarity. Then how do we pay rent?” 

Vince reappears; his green uniform jacket pulled over his shoulders and a hat sitting firmly on his head. “You know what we need?” 

“Better jobs?” 

“Shut up, you love the zoo.” Vince reaches past him to snatch a banana, tucks into it while Howard ties his shoelaces. “No, what we need is a  _ holiday _ .” 

_ That  _ draws Howard’s attention; he forgoes getting ready in order to deliver a disbelieving stare to his boyfriend. “A  _ holiday?  _ Vince we can barely afford--” 

“Shush.” Vince, bloody minx that he is, insinuates himself into Howard’s lap. Knees either side his hips, fingers in Howard’s hair when he tips his head back to look up at the younger man, he settles his weight there. “There’s this little place I know.” 

“Oh yeah?” Howard smirks up at him. Knowing already where this is going but not wanting to rob his partner the chance to play his game. “And where’s that?” 

“Well it’s a little out of the way,” Vince says, taps a finger to his chin as if in thought. “In the woods, you know. But, it’s a  _ really  _ beautiful spot. And there’s this incredible little cabin where we could stay-- though the last owner was a bit of a clean freak so--” 

“Hey.” For that comment, Howard reaches out to pinch at Vince’s sides; Howard chases him down as he tries to squirm away from groping hands. 

They tumble about on the sofa, Vince trying to escape and Howard refusing to let him yield. There’s screeched giggles and Howard’s deep rumbling laughter. The new symphony to the new life. Eventually they give in, Vince seeking his revenge with kisses and wandering hands; a tactic that disarms Howard immediately but can’t go too far. They are after all,  _ definitely  _ late for work now. 

“You want to go back?” Howard asks when they part. 

Vince, suddenly shy where he lays beneath Howard on the sofa, nods his head. “I think it would be good for us.” 

They hadn’t ever considered returning. Not since they’d left. In the days following their stroll across the border they had talked. A lot. Everything from trying to understand each other’s experiences in the forest to silly utterings of what they could do with their lives now. Bryan and his animal children did rather spook Howard initially; a lot of thinly veiled threats were made. And they never once avoided the topic of where they’d come from. Not too many days would pass without them joking or talking about their magical origins as a couple. 

But they’d never talked about going back. 

Howard mulls it over for a moment, considers Vince’s sparkling big blue eyes and his little flushed cheeks. It seems a no brainer to him. “Okay,” He says. “I’ll speak to Fossil today--if we ever get to work that is.” 

“Ugh,” Vince shoves playfully at Howard’s shoulders. “Get off me you great big goat-man. We’ll go to work.” 

And they do. Howard finishes getting dressed, Vince swallows down strawberry bootlaces and flying saucers as his breakfast, and they go. They walk to work hand in hand, Vince humming the tune of a forgotten tune under his breath. 

_ Are we to be married on the morrow, my child?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever I can be found on Tumblr:
> 
> @crazy-mad-insane / @anciientboosh


End file.
